


The Bubble

by thunderpuffin429



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Character Bleed, Feelings, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Kissing, M/M, So much kissing, Switching, Top Jensen, Top Misha (as in he's literally on top of Jensen but no penetration occurs)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 08:07:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6147211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderpuffin429/pseuds/thunderpuffin429
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas has to choose between Heaven and the Winchesters. Again. For the final time.</p><p>
  <i>The first part of this is all Destiel, and their story finishes at the end of Chapter 5. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>If you like your Destiel with a side of Cockles, the rest of the story is how my imaginary Misha and Jensen behave having filmed Cas and Dean’s love scene. </i>
</p><p>Basically, if Cockles ain’t your jam, stop reading at the end of chapter 5.<br/>(Conversely if you’re just here for the Jen/Mish smut, start at Chapter 7!)</p><p>*NB Dean and Cas don’t actually get all that graphic, it’s mostly fluff. Damn good fluff. The explicit tag is for the second half of the story, in which there is much descriptive sex. Yay!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I got my Angel facts from Wikipedia. Therefore I use the word ‘facts’ loosely. 
> 
> ANGELS:  
>  **Hesediel** (angel of freedom, benevolence, mercy)  
>  **Netzach** (leader of the principalities, angel of eternity)  
>  **Samael** (Archangel of death  & fetching souls)  
>  **Cassiel/Castiel** (“speed of God”, Archangel of solitude and tears)
> 
> Action is set in a kind of alternate post season 10 with no Darkness and no Mark of Cain. Spoilers for 10:21.

“Castiel,” Hesediel said, his voice firm but kindly as always. “Not everyone is being offered this choice, and in fact there are many up here who do not believe that you deserve it. Given that your primary mission since the dawn was to observe humanity without interference, it’s fair to say that in recent years you have somewhat strayed from the brief.”

Cas wasn’t sure whether it was appropriate to respond, so he didn’t.

Hesediel continued; “Fortunately, the upper echelons in Heaven have decided that you have paid enough penance for your numerous crimes, and ultimately you have done more good than bad in the fight against Hell. They wish you to know that, should you choose to return, you will be reinstated to a position of Archangel.”

Not so long ago, Cas would have been delighted by that prospect, but in all honesty the idea filled him with dread. His mouth felt dry. The members of the panel were looking at him, expectantly.

“If, however,” Netzach was adding. “You decide to stay on Earth, your vessel will be removed of its grace and you will live out your days as a human male.”

Cas looked at his siblings sitting across from him, the three of them representing the greater population of Heaven, whose acceptance and forgiveness he had craved for so long. They were at last offering him the chance to draw a line under everything and start again, but now he wasn’t even sure if that’s what he wanted.

Earth had fascinated Cas since his creation, as had its inhabitants. He’d cared for humanity very much, but he’d never desired to dwell among them for too long. That was until he’d been called to a special assignment to drag one particular human out of Hell. Since then his priorities and loyalties had skewed beyond all recognition.

“The spell has already been cast,” Samael boomed in that rich voice of hers. “The countdown has begun. You can’t take too long over this decision Castiel. Two days from now the door of Heaven will shut for good, and you’ve got to pick which side of that door you want to be on.”

“I understand,” Cas said, solemnly. “I appreciate your giving me the opportunity and time to choose.”

He stood up and made for the door. Suddenly Hesediel was at his side.

“Castiel,” he said in a low voice. “Go whichever way it is that your soul is directing you. Being bound by duty is a soldier’s lot. But you are no longer a soldier. Free will, Castiel. _Free_.”

Hesediel smiled, and then he was gone.

Cas blinked, and found that he had been deposited back right where the angels had picked him up from; just outside the bunker. He looked at the Impala which was parked outside, and sighed. The sight of that car felt more like home to Cas than Heaven did.

The choice before him sitting heavily on his shoulders, he walked towards the door.


	2. Chapter 2

“Wait,” Dean said, putting down his beer bottle and leaning across the table. “You’re saying you used to be an Archangel?”

“Yes.”

“And you just - forgot?!”

 “No Dean, I didn’t _forget_. God removed the memory from me.”

“Why?” Sam interjected.

“I’m not entirely clear. Samael says it’s because my retaining the memory would’ve been detrimental to the final plan.”

“The final plan?” Dean repeated, lip curled with the disdain he always reserved for any angels that weren’t Cas.

Cas shrugged. “I don’t know what it means either. All I can tell you for sure is that I have until Wednesday night to decide whether or not I want to go back.”

Dean sat back in his chair. He looked over at his brother, then back at Cas.

Sam cleared his throat. “So, uh, what happens if you decide to stay?”

“A ritual would need to be performed in order to permanently separate my vessel from my grace.”

Cas pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and placed it on the table. “This is the spell that would need to be recited. It has to be spoken over one of my wing feathers.”

“Your feathers?” Dean asked.

Cas always looked so human, it was easy to forget that the dude actually had _wings_.

"Yes; I would need to remove one, which is actually quite painful.”

“Is this Enochian?” Sam said, picking up the paper.

"Yes, but I’ve written it out phonetically underneath so that one of you can read it if I choose to stay.”

"Why can’t _you_ just say it?” Dean said, reaching over to pluck the paper from his brother’s hand and inspect it.

"The spell has to be spoken by someone who…” Cas faltered.

“Someone who what?” Sam asked.

Cas sighed. He knew how much Dean hated it when he talked about their bond, and he didn’t want to make his friend uncomfortable.

"Someone with whom I have a connection at soul-level.” Cas elaborated, avoiding prolonged eye-contact with either of them.

Sam looked at Dean and gave him that well-practised ‘Dean and Cas, sitting in a tree…’ look.

Dean looked back at him impatiently. _Not this profound bond shit again. Jesus._

Cas hurriedly added some specifics to try and alleviate the awkwardness; “Well technically I have been inside both of you.”

Dean choked on his beer, and Sam’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hair.

“Please explain that sentence,” Dean said, one hand covering his eyes.

Cas was confused as to why they didn’t understand.

“Well, Dean I had to rebuild you at an atomic level when I rescued you from Hell. I know you intimately from your soul all the way out to your skin. And Sam, I restored you from Lucifer’s cage, I’ve been inside your head... I branded both of you with a sigil on your ribs. I’ve healed you, I’ve saved you, you’ve saved me… There are no other living beings, on Earth or in Heaven, with whom I am closer. You’re – you’re my best friends.”

There was a silence. Then Sam smiled, and rapped on the table.

“Well whatever you decide, Cas, we’re with you,” he said. “You do whatever you feel is right.”

“Thank you.”

Dean was still regarding the angel’s face, concerned. This could really mean goodbye this time.

"So on Wednesday night, Heaven and Hell are boarding up their gates? No entry unless you’re a deceased human soul?”

Cas nodded. “That’s right. Samael has cast the spell. She says we’ve all been bending the rules for far too long and she wants to reassert the natural order.”

Dean took a swig of his beer. “Did Crowley get a vote?”

“I doubt it,” said Cas. “But he’s not powerful enough to undo Archangel magic. No creature is.”

Dean stood up and headed for the fridge.

"Freakin’ angels man,” he cursed. “Where was this Archangel magic during the damn apocalypse, or any of the other thousand times the planet’s almost been ripped to shreds by dicks from the hereafter? How come all of a sudden they’ve decided to bring the curtain down?”

It was a rhetorical question, so no one answered. No one could, even if they wanted to. Even when Cas _had_ been an Archangel, he was never party to the intricacies of God’s master plan. He just knew that His timing was always impeccable.

“There’s - something else,” Cas said. He’d held back this information, because he wasn’t sure how it was going to be received.

The Winchesters were looking at him expectantly. Cas stood up, anxiety not permitting him to sit still.

“Samael has decided to restore certain souls.”

“Restore…?” Sam frowned.

"Yes. It seems she has a list of everyone killed by demons, or people taken as a result of angel and demon crossfire… essentially anyone who would still be alive but for supernatural interference. She’s shortlisted those whose renewed existence won’t have a negative impact on the world or damage the fabric of history, and they will be returned to their bodies.”

"Ok,” Dean said, leaning back against the fridge. “So she’s taken over Heaven and decided that her first task should be to raise the freakin’ dead?? What the hell’s wrong with this chick?”

“That _chick_ is the Archangel of fetching souls. She knows which ones should be where. I trust her judgement on this; she won’t just be sending people back arbitrarily.”

"Is she gonna give us back Hendrix?” asked Dean, hopefully.

Sam shook his head. “I don’t know man, sounds kinda risky. I mean where is she gonna draw the line at “people who should be given another chance”?

Cas rubbed the back of his neck. “One of the souls being returned is Charlie Bradbury.”


	3. Chapter 3

Samael’s chosen souls were apparently being put back in the last place they’d felt safe. Which is why Charlie reappeared in the bunker later that day.

It hadn’t taken long to catch her up to current events, and after a huge amount of apologising, hugging, talking, more apologising, drinking, a bit more hugging and a lot more talking, it felt like she’d never been gone.

When Cas and Sam had gone out to get a celebratory dinner, Charlie addressed the big Winchester.

“So, you think he’s gonna go home?”

 _“This_ is his home,” Dean snapped, not meaning to.

“Sorry,” he said, seeing Charlie’s confused expression. He took a drink and shook his head.

“I don’t get why he’s still trying to suck up to those dicks in Heaven, you know?”

Charlie nodded.

Dean’s eyes went distant. “They don’t care about him Charlie, they don’t need him up there, they’re just being… dicks.”

Charlie smiled, full of fondness and frustration at the big brother she never had.

“Maybe he’s waiting to be given a reason to stay,” she said softly.

“He has tons of reasons!” Dean said, walking round to the other side of the table. “Netflix, tacos, hot running water…”

“Dean.” Charlie’s voice was firm and it made Dean stop in his tracks. One look in her eyes and he could see that the Queen of Moons was back and she meant business. She put her hands on the counter and leaned over to emphasise her words. “I mean an actual – reason.”

Dean stared at her.

The other two came clattering down the stairs, armed with takeout, so that was the end of that. But for the rest of the night, Charlie kept firing furtive glances towards Dean. If he understood what they meant, he didn’t show it, and soon the brothers took themselves off to bed.

Charlie and Cas remained, lounging opposite each other in two of the more luxurious armchairs of the Men of Letters. Cas had no need to sleep, and Charlie had no inclination to, she was too thrilled to be alive again.

“So what are you going to do, Cas?” she asked, when the conversation turned back around to the great Heaven-or-Earth debate.

“I feel like I should return,” Cas replied.

“Really?” Charlie sat up, disappointed.

“Yes,” Cas nodded, sadly. “I think I need to go back to God.”

He looked up at the ceiling.

“All I’ve done, for so long, is let Him down, Charlie. With this choice I can prove that I deserve the forgiveness I’ve been offered. I think it might finally be time to just be what I was created to be.”

“But Cas,” Charlie said gently. “What if you were created to be exactly what you are right now? A bad-ass, rebellious fallen angel who’s in love with a human being.”

Cas looked sharply at her.

Charlie raised her eyebrows. “Deny it all you want hot wings, I’m not an idiot.”

Cas frowned and looked away. He’d never even admitted that to himself, let alone out loud to someone else.

“You know what?” Charlie said, sitting forward and resting her forearms on her thighs, hands clasped between her knees. “He absolutely loves you too.”

Cas ached with how much he wanted that to be true. “No, he doesn’t.”

“Don’t argue with me, I’m awesome at seeing that shit in people. I’m a nerd Cas, and if there’s one thing nerds are good at it’s honing in on homosexual subtext.”

Cas was sure Charlie was being sarcastic, but he was completely lost.

She smiled.

“Listen,” Charlie said, authoritative tone in her sweet voice. “If you guys have proved anything over the years, it’s that love and light are the things you fight for if you wanna win. If you stay, I don’t think you’ll be letting God down. You might find that you’re doing exactly what He wants in this grand plan of His.”

Cas rubbed his face, more conflicted than ever.

“I mean think about it,” Charlie was saying, words coming out too quick in her eagerness to convince him. “What if He decided that He wanted you to be the official Winchester guardian angel, and so He took away your memory of being an Archangel specifically so that could happen? So that you could experience everything you’ve experienced and have the relationship you have with Sam and Dean. What if He keeps bringing you and Dean back to each other because He wants you together?”

Charlie lunged forward so that she was crouching on the floor in front of Cas, and put her hands on the arms of his chair, looking earnestly up at him.

“What if this isn’t a test that you have to pass, Castiel? What if it’s a genuine opportunity to just have exactly what you want?”


	4. Chapter 4

Cas was in the shower room in the bunker. He looked down at the feather in his hand. Extracting it hadn’t been easy, but he’d done it, and he couldn’t help admiring the colors. He hadn’t seen his wings up close for a long time.

He still hadn’t made his decision, but he had wanted to have the feather and the spell ready, just in case. It was already Wednesday morning - time was running out.

He looked at his face in the mirror as he got dressed. Although, it wasn’t his face. Not originally. But it had become his. These were the eyes he looked through, this was the mouth he smiled with. These were the muscles with which he made all the very human expressions he’d picked up from Sam and Dean.

_Sam and Dean._

Now that Heaven and Hell were going to be one-way only again, his two friends wouldn’t have to fight so much any more. They might finally have the chance of a peaceful life; settle down, raise families. What would Cas do then if he were to remain on Earth? They wouldn’t want him around if they got married and moved to lovely little houses in the suburbs of whichever state they chose. He refused to be a burden. The Winchesters deserved happiness. If Cas stayed, he would just be a constant reminder of all the horrors they’d lived through.

Cas suddenly imagined himself growing old, all alone in the bunker, surrounded by the ancient remnants of an archaic world.

No. That was no kind of exchange for an immortal life as an Archangel. He put his feather away in his pocket. Decision made.

* * * *

They tried to talk him out of it, and he was very touched. But he doggedly refused to accept their arguments.

Cas knew that if the Winchesters were anything, it was selfless. He knew that they never put themselves first, so he would have to do it for them. For all their telling him that they wanted him to stay and that they would all be friends for the rest of their lives, he knew the truth. They wouldn’t need him once the demons were gone.

Charlie pulled Dean aside while Cas was ensuring that Sam was equipped with all the extra lore he could impart before he left.

“Dean, you can’t let him go!” she hissed desperately.

“He’s made his decision, what the hell am I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know; tell him… tell him how you feel.”

“How I _feel_? This isn’t about me, Charlie.”

“But you want him to stay,” she said, despairing of Dean’s stubbornness.

“Yes, I do. But he wants to go. And I’m not going to stand here and argue that he should become a human instead of a freaking Archangel. That he should stay here on Earth with all our diseases and heartbreak and hunger and war, instead of living in Heaven with his family.”

 _“You’re_ his family!”

Dean paused and looked at her. She was right, and Cas would always be an honorary Winchester. But he was being called to a better place, and Dean wasn’t going to be selfish about this.

“Charlie,” Dean said, firmly. “Cas has had to choose between us and them before. And every time, he’s chosen us, and every time he winds up getting hurt. Clearly he doesn’t wanna be hurt any more, and I don’t blame him.”

Dean walked away from her, and leaned up against the pillar at the corner of the room, trying to detach himself from the event that was about to unfold.

Cas looked immaculate, entirely unnecessarily because presumably his earthly vessel would be defunct in a matter of hours. Nevertheless he’d made the effort; his clothing looked neatly pressed and his hair was as tame as it would ever be.

Time to go.

“Goodbye Charlie. I’m so glad you’ve been given a second chance.”

Charlie sniffed and threw her arms round the angel.

“Please don’t do this,” she begged in his ear.

Cas released her from the embrace but couldn’t look at her.

Then he moved on to Sam.

“Sam,” he began, then stopped because he just didn’t have the words.

He and Sam Winchester had such a complex history. The boy who was addicted to demon blood, Lucifer’s first choice of vessel, the soulless brother of the righteous man. It had taken a while to trust each other. But ultimately Sam had become his friend. Cas would have died for him in a heartbeat, and nearly had a few times.

“Cas, I… I’m really going to miss you,” Sam said, then went in for a rare hug.

“I’m going to miss you too, Sam,” Cas said, surprised at the emotions tugging at him. “Have… have a wonderful life.”

Sam swallowed. This was horrible. He didn’t want Cas to go.

Cas walked slowly a few steps and stopped in front of Dean. With a huge effort, he looked up at Dean’s face.

Dean wasn’t looking at him. He had his eyes down and he was licking his lips nervously. Finally he looked up.

“Dean,” Cas said.

Dean closed his eyes against all the feelings and memories that rushed him every time Cas said his name.

In the background, Charlie and Sam were watching the two of them dejectedly.

“I think I’ll miss you most of all, Scarecrow,” Charlie whispered, under her breath.

It was loud enough for Sam to hear though, and he squeezed her hand.

Dean opened his eyes again and looked into Cas’ bright blue gaze.

Dean had never been good at this kind of shit, and this was a nightmare. He gave up on the prospect of language, and pulled Cas in for a hug. He wrapped one arm around his angel’s shoulders, and put his other hand in Cas’ hair, cradling his head into Dean’s shoulder.

Cas put his arms round Dean’s waist, and sank into the embrace, knowing it would be their last. He let Dean hold him, and a sensation of utter devastation engulfed him.

He was extremely choked, but he had a speech planned, and he needed to get it out.

"I know you don't believe that you deserve... anything," he said, quietly, into Dean's shoulder. "Anything good, that is."

Dean closed his eyes.

"But Dean," Cas carried on. "You _do_ deserve peace, and happiness, and - love. So if the opportunity comes along for you to have any or all of those things, please don't fight it or push it away."

Dean was a strong man, and he was pretty much ready to fight whatever whenever. But at this moment he found himself completely powerless against the prickling of tears. He had to break away, he couldn’t bear this any longer. He released his grip, and without any real forethought, pressed a brief kiss to Cas’ temple as Cas lifted away from his shoulder. In another context it would’ve been completely platonic and meaningless; the kind of kiss you’d give your cousin at Christmas, or a guy might give his team mate after a home run.

But it wasn’t meaningless. And it wasn’t platonic.

Cas raised his eyes, his hands still at Dean’s waist. Their faces were barely an inch apart. With nothing left to lose, Cas held Dean’s eye and lightly placed a kiss to his lips, just lasting a second.

Dean looked at him in surprise, but repaid the kiss with another almost immediately. Dean’s eyes were glistening with tears and he felt a total mess inside. All he could think was _don’t go don’t go please don’t go._

The two of them exchanged a few more of these short but sincere pecks, brows knotted in confusion and sorrow, then Cas exhaled thickly, rested his forehead against the hunter’s and shut his eyes. Dean put his hands on the back of Cas’ head, fingers tight in his hair.

“Cas…” Dean pleaded.

There was a loud fluttering sound, then the weight against Dean was gone, and his hands were empty in front of him.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean stood frozen for a moment, breathing shakily and with his eyes completely filled with tears. Then he took off with urgency towards his bedroom, not daring to make eye contact with Sam or Charlie.

“Dean…” Sam started after him, but Charlie stopped him with a hand on his arm and a shake of her head.

“Give him some time,” she sniffed.

Sam stared helplessly as his brother disappeared down the hall.

Once inside his room, Dean didn’t bother to turn on the light. As soon as his door was closed, he leaned against it and let the tears fall. Dean had known more than his fair share of grief, but _fuck_ this was the most painful thing he’d ever experienced. Nothing would pull him out of this one, he could feel it. He was completely and truly heartbroken. Cas had left. Cas had left him.

Between barely contained sobs, Dean heard a soft sound, like someone shuffling some papers, or a bird flapping its...

Dean’s eyes flew open, he hit the light switch and spun round. He almost didn’t trust his own eyes as they settled on the figure in the corner of his room.

_"Cas."_

“Hello Dean.”

Dean wiped away the torrent under his eyes, but he couldn’t move his feet.

“What the hell…? I thought you left…”

“I did. But only in order to inform Samael of my decision,” Cas explained, just as rooted to the spot as Dean.

Dean gaped, breathing heavily. “But…”

“Dean,” Cas said, tenderly. “I realised that there was no choice to make. I already made it a long time ago.”

Dean took a long inhale, and was about to respond when Cas continued softly; “Do you have the spell?”

It took a few seconds for Dean’s brain to get coherent thoughts down to his mouth, but he nodded.

“Um... yeah, yeah,” he took the scrap of paper from his pocket. “I have it.”

Cas took his feather from the inside pocket of his trench coat, and held it at arm’s length in front of him. He let go of it, and it hovered in mid-air. He muttered a few words of Enochian, and the feather began to glow. He raised his eyes to meet Dean’s and nodded.

Dean took that as his green light to start speaking, and he began reciting the spell.

Halfway through the verse, the lights in the room started to flicker and everything began to rattle like there was an earthquake coming. Dean continued, a little louder, looking at Cas every few words to see what was happening and to check that he was okay.

Cas had his eyes closed and his mouth open. The silvery blue translucent matter that Dean had come to recognise as Cas’ grace was making its way out of Cas’ mouth towards the wing feather. It circled and consumed the feather, then started spiralling with it up towards the ceiling. Cas watched it go, panting like he’d just been running.

Wing shadows had appeared behind Cas’ shoulders, and Cas was spreading his fingers down by his sides as they unfurled. Dean was reminded of when he and Cas first met. The rattling in the room was becoming deafening, and there was another sound now too, like a high pitched whistle. As Dean reached the end of the spell, his voice now a shout, Castiel’s wings began to manifest their true colours, and Dean had never seen anything so beautiful. It only lasted a second though, because as soon as Cas’ grace hit the ceiling, it and the wings vanished, along with the noise and the tremors.

Suddenly everything was silent.

Cas was staring up at the ceiling, his breathing returning to normal, and his face painted with several discordant emotions.

“Are you alright?” Dean asked, gently, but there wasn’t time for an answer because suddenly the other Winchester was barrelling through the door. The minor earthquake obviously hadn’t been confined to Dean’s bedroom.

“Dean, what the hell…?” Sam looked around the room, then all the colour drained from his face.

_"Cas?"_

Cas smiled.

Sam stammered; “Are you… did you…?”

“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean answered the question that his brother couldn’t form. “He’s back. He’s staying.”

Dean’s voice was noticeably breaking, and Sam took his cue.

“Oh,” he said, breathy. “Okay, well, I’ll give you guys some time.”

Sam backed out of the room and closed the door. Once out in the hallway again, his face broke into a huge grin of relief and joy for his brother, and he raced to the kitchen to tell Charlie.

Dean was finding it really difficult to maintain eye contact with Cas; it was all too much.

“Dean, please don’t be upset. I didn’t mean to just disappear but I had to tell them and say goodbye before the time ran out.”

“It’s okay, Cas, I’m not upset.”

Dean was sweating, and his throat was dry. He took off his jacket and threw it on the bed, along with the words of the spell. He rubbed his jaw contemplatively and looked back at Cas.

“So you’re actually human now?”

“Yes.” Cas answered, and smiled as the truth of his words sunk in. “Yes, I’m human. Jimmy’s body is finally all mine. Heart’s beating, lungs are expanding, everything’s working.”

“And no – consequences? You’re not going to be punished?”

Dean started to pace a little, nervously.

“I mean, those Heavenly douchebags have gotta be pretty pissed at you for choosing me and Sammy over them again, right? What’s the betting there’s some small print in the spell that says you only get to live for three months or something?”

Cas smiled.

“No, Dean. No small print. No consequences. My life span is as much a gamble as anyone else’s now. And,” he clarified, "As much as I care about your brother, he didn’t factor too much in my decision.”

Dean looked questioningly at Cas, though he knew what he was getting at.

“It’s you, Dean. It’s always been about you, deny it as I have.”

Dean’s cheeks reddened, and even though this definitely qualified as a fully fledged chick flick moment, he couldn’t fight the warm rush that flooded him.

“Ever since I was designated to retrieve you from Hell,” Cas continued. “You’ve been the focal point of my existence.”

Dean felt his throat constrict.

“Wow,” he managed. “Cas, that’s a hell of a label to put on a guy.”

“It’s true,” Cas shrugged. “I’ve been inextricably bound to you for so long, Dean. There’s no shaking you off.”

There was a pause. Cas stared at Dean, trying to read his mind, which is a lot more difficult when you can’t actually read someone’s mind. He frowned and cleared his throat.

Dean felt the mood change as Cas spoke again, this time quiet and nervous.

“Dean. You kissed me.”

Dean huffed a little laugh. “Yes I did.”

“Was that just because you thought you’d never see me again? Or do you… I mean…”

Dean met his friend’s wide eyes and found the willpower to hold them.

“Cas, I - kissed you because I thought it would be my last chance. I mean there have been plenty of times over the years when reason said I wouldn’t ever see you again, but I never believed in reason. I always knew you’d come back. But today… Man, today felt really final, you know? And I guess it just takes the threat of having someone ripped away from you to make you realise how much that person means to you.”

Dean took a few steps towards Cas.

“It just kinda snuck up on me, you know?”

Cas frowned and tilted his head. Dean smiled inwardly, grateful that that trait hadn’t upped and gone with the angel mojo. Cas was still Cas. Dean carried on walking until he was standing right in front of the newly ex angel.

The hunter began to explicate, his voice quieter than usual. Hearing Dean speak so softly and so close to him sent a shiver down Cas’ spine.

“I mean, with Lisa I knew right away how I felt, it was immediate. With you it’s been like this – this thing that’s been stalking us and today it finally decided to pounce.”

Cas half frowned and half smiled. “I understand the analogy, but I’m not sure I’d describe it quite like that…”

“No?” Dean lifted his hand and pushed Cas’ hair away from his eyes.

“How would you describe it?” he whispered, letting his hand come to rest on the side of Cas’ face where jaw meets neck.

Cas gazed into Dean’s eyes, and answered, choosing his words slowly and carefully.

“I would think of it more as a tiny spark that became an inexorable flame that became a powerful fire.”

Dean smiled. “Easy there, Shakespeare.”

Dean leaned forward and closed the small gap between them. He brought his free hand up to mirror the one already on his friend’s skin, pressed his mouth gently against Cas’, closed his eyes, and kissed him softly. Cas reciprocated, bringing his hands up to Dean’s waist.

The kiss was slow and tender, filled with years and years worth of unspoken passion. Dean suddenly felt overwhelmed by it all, and broke the kiss to rest his forehead on Cas’ shoulder. He could feel tears stinging his eyes again.

Cas held him tightly. “It’s alright Dean”, he said, no better off in the emotions department than his hunter, but holding it together slightly more effectively. “I know.”

Cas was prepared to hold Dean in his arms for as long as he needed; he would’ve stayed like that all night for Dean. Anything for Dean.

That wouldn’t prove to be necessary though. Dean stepped away, and wiped his face with both hands.

“Jesus,” he chuckled. “Never cried so much in one day before.”

Cas looked at him, sad that he didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to make it better.

“Do you want me to leave you alone for a while?” Cas asked. “Is this all too much?”

Dean looked at Cas’ face. That face that had at times brought him so much confusion, anger and frustration, but more than anything had been a source of comfort and reassurance. The face that shone through the grey mists of purgatory. The face that used to be controlled by another soul, and that has been forcibly occupied by monsters and demons, yet remains so beautiful.

“Cas,” Dean said. “I’m terrible at asking for what I want, but you always seem to know anyway. But right now you couldn’t have got it more wrong.”

Cas looked really worried, so Dean put his hands on his shoulders reassuringly, and looked intently into his eyes.

“I definitely do not want you to leave me alone, Cas. I never want you to leave me again, period. I want you with me all the time.”

Dean interrupted himself to kiss Cas again. This time their eyes stayed open, blue gazing into green, and the kisses were short and pouted and were punctuating Dean’s speech.

“I want... I want you Cas… Need you… Need you with me… God, Cas I…”

The kisses hit fever pitch and a fire lit up inside both of them. Dialogue was abandoned, hands were in each other’s hair, and clothing was being ripped off. Neither wanted to separate their mouths, however, so it was mostly blind pulling and grabbing as far as the clothes were concerned. Trenchcoat, tie and t-shirt discarded, shirt and flies open, they fell onto the bed, still kissing, and ended up on their sides. Dean pushed Cas’s shirt off his shoulders, and Cas wrestled to get the cuffs off his wrists, before tossing the offending article onto the floor.

Dean rolled Cas over onto his back, and took his kisses on a little excursion down Cas’ chest and stomach. Cas moaned and arched his back, blissful at how amazing it felt to finally get to have Dean in this most human of ways.

Dean kissed his way back up to Cas’ face, straddling him. When his mouth reached Cas’ cheek, he gazed down at the former angel’s face. Dean lifted a hand to stroke through Cas’ hair. He wanted to speak, to tell Cas how much he loved him. Wanted to tell him that he’s so grateful Cas stayed, and that Dean would spend every minute of every day making him certain that he made the right choice. Wanted to say sorry for every time they fought, every time Dean let Cas down or lied to him or made him feel worthless. Wanted to tell him how beautiful he was, and how undeserving Dean felt.

He couldn’t say any of that though. All Dean’s preconceptions about his own sexuality had been thrown unceremoniously out the proverbial window today, and having to actually articulate feelings was a step too far. So instead he just sat up, relieved himself and Cas of their lower garments, then returned to his position on top of his angel, pulling the blanket up to cover them both, and reaching over to turn out the lights.

Dean didn’t consider that he’d ever ‘made love’ before. Even with Lisa, about whom he had cared very deeply, it had still been sex. But he made love to Cas that night, and it was beautiful.

Very few words were spoken, apart from the occasional “oh god”, and each other’s names uttered in the throes of climax.

They’d held each other closely through the night, and had woken in the early hours for round two, this time with Cas at the helm, while Dean talked him through it with encouragement and soft praise.

As they lay together in the morning, not wanting to move, Dean thought about what was ahead. Heaven and Hell were closed for business. Sure, there would still be demons who hadn’t made it home before curfew, and who were stuck on earth. There would still be monsters to fight, but maybe now there was a finite number. A list with an attainable end. It might just be possible that in his lifetime he would see hunters become obsolete. He and Cas might be able to live out their twilight years in peace, like an actual couple. It was a thought that Dean had never truly entertained before, but now… He looked at the sleepy figure curled up in his arms, and smiled.

Screw it, he was going to get his happy ending. Just watch.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think that later that day Dean finds Cas’ feather on the bedroom floor, where it dropped after the grace disappeared. It’s now totally drained of colour, and he tucks it away in a drawer.
> 
> From here on out it's Cockles all the way, so if you're leaving now, thank you for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This goes without saying, but I’ll say it anyway. I don’t know the real Jensen or Misha, or their beautiful wives. I’ve never met them or spoken to them, nor do I presume to know anything about their relationship, or their views on anything. I have taken what little I do know about them, and used it to invent fictional versions of them in order to fabricate a story.

“So, you guys are gonna have to film a… _sex scene_?” Jared grinned.

“Yes, Jared,” Jensen answered, as patiently as he could. “And you will be as far away from set as physically possible.”

Robbie had insisted on talking them through the episode, rather than just sending them the scripts. He really wanted to make sure Jensen in particular was on board with where they were taking Dean and Cas, and he wanted them to know it had nothing to do with fan or Network pressure.

In order to persuade Singer, Robbie and Jeremy had asked the guys in the editing suite to cut together all of Dean and Castiel’s pivotal scenes in chronological order. Then they got Bob in, and asked him to just watch, and maybe imagine how various scenes would read if Cas were being played by a woman. The three of them, plus Andrew, all sat together and watched it in silence. It lasted about thirty five minutes.

At the end of it, they switched on the lights and waited for Bob to react. They weren’t sure what they were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the slightly misty eyed expression he had on his face.

When he spoke, his words came slow.

“You know,” he began, resting his chin on his fingertips. “I honestly never saw it. I didn’t. People told me I was _choosing_ not to see it, sometimes I got told I was just being pig-headed and homophobic, but I honestly just didn’t see it. But looking at that…” he pointed at the screen and shook his head. “Those characters, despite writing to the contrary, despite direction to the contrary, despite performances to the contrary… those characters fell in love right in front of our eyes.”

Jeremy smiled.

“That,” said Robbie, relieved. “Is exactly how we feel. And we think that the trajectory of their relationship is leading – here.”

With that, he slid Singer the script.

When Jensen and Misha had been called in, they’d both assumed about what the meeting was going to be, though neither of them voiced their suspicions. Jensen was immediately a little spiky about it, but as soon as Robbie had described in detail what he was trying to achieve and what was going to be asked of them, Jensen had warmed to the idea. They had both been shown the Cas-and-Dean short film too, which had set the right atmosphere.

“What’s really crucial here,” Jeremy had explained. “Is that this is about love. Apart from maybe with Lisa, all of Dean’s sex scenes up to this point have been about him needing physical contact. This is the first time it’s been about love.”

Robbie had added; “It’s really important that it’s all about the eye contact and the emotion. No pornographic noises, nothing shot below the rib cage, no gratuitous nudity… it’ll be a really beautiful scene.”

Misha and Jensen went to get lunch together after the meeting.

“I mean it’s definitely going to alienate the anti-Cas brigade for sure, but I think the vast majority of fans will be beside themselves”, Misha said over his pasta. “How do you feel about it?”

“I’m ok,” Jensen said through his cheeseburger. “A few years ago I would have told them to shove it up their asses, but now I think Dean and me are both ready for it.”

“I’m really excited,” smiled Misha. “This is going to mean a lot to a lot of people.”

There was a pause while food was chewed and drink was swallowed.

“You know,” Jensen began. “I’ve got to the point where I don’t care how people wanna define Dean.”

Misha raised his eyebrows and sat back, inviting elaboration.

“Like, I used to hate when people wanted him to be bi or gay or whatever, like it for real made me wanna kill.”

Misha chuckled, and nodded while trying to get a wayward bit of asparagus out of his teeth. “I remember…”

Jensen had the good grace to look a bit ashamed of his past macho defensiveness.

“But it doesn’t matter. What Dean feels for Cas is, like, so far removed from any normal definitions of sexuality and gender… It’s love man, pure and simple”.

With that, Jensen returned whole-heartedly to his burger.

Misha smiled. He liked to think he could take at least partial credit for Jensen’s turnaround when it came to matters of sexuality. Jensen had been super black and white about the whole thing a few years back; there was gay and there was straight and that was that. Misha had always been a lot more familiar with the vast rainbow spectrum of the LGBTQ community, and they’d had several enlightening conversations on the subject. The turning point was when Misha had finally convinced Jensen that sexuality could be a fluid experience, and ultimately what your chosen partner has in their heart is more important than what they have in their pants. Jensen had also at last stopped associating homosexuality with physical weakness, something that a lot of men who grew up in the 80s and 90s had difficulty with, to be fair.

Misha knew people thought he was bisexual, and he was cool with that. Vicki’s book had fanned the flames of that particular rumour, plus anyone who had ever googled him knew he was completely at ease in drag. He’d actually never thought of himself as bi; he’d never thought of himself as any of it. He was just him, and he liked who he liked and he did what he wanted. He could take or leave the bi, poly, pan or any other prefix people cared to offer.

Misha found it impossible to remain objective to Cas and Dean’s romantic storyline, partly because he wanted mainstream TV to start representing bisexuality, and partly because he would gladly sell his leg to play a love scene with Jensen. Gag reel shenanigans and convention nonsense aside, he’d had a crush on the dude since 2008.

Since they became close friends, that crush had magnified and Misha was pretty sure he was now in love with the handsome, infuriating Texan bastard.

And then of course there was the never-to-be-spoken-of-again JiBCon incident of 2013...


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In amongst the fiction I’ve tried to be consistent with the facts surrounding the con; who was there and all the context etc, please correct me if I’ve made any mistakes.

Laughter was one of Jensen’s favourite drugs, and on that basis he’d been high pretty much all weekend. Misha had made him laugh so much during their panel that his sides ached. He’d really needed it too, given what was going down with Jared. Jared and Gen were his family, and if they were hurting then so was Jensen. Maybe that was part of why he’d lost his damn mind at the closing party. Or maybe it was all the whiskey Ty had been pouring him, who knows. Maybe it was the unexpected jealousy he felt at all Misha’s play-flirting with Seb and Matt. Whatever the fuck it was, it caused a temporary insanity which had him giggling in Misha’s ear like a drunk prom date.

Misha was on cloud fucking nine. The last day of convention had been so much fun, and he was in his element at the party; showing off and flirting and generally just letting go. He had spent approximately eighty-four percent of the weekend doubled over with laughter, and it had all been very good for the soul. His panel with Jensen had slayed. They were worried and sad about Jared, and so they’d made a huge effort to throw loads of energy and positivity into each panel. As awful as he felt for his absent friend, Misha was pleased that the whole experience pushed him and Jensen through a kind of renewed bonding thing. He’d also taken a certain amount of pride at being the one who was able to calm Jensen down when he became jittery and worried about Jared, or about the photo ops, or about anything really. He loved Jensen, he really did, and making him laugh was one of his favourite things.

Misha sidled away from Richard and Brock and the shots that were currently being raucously imbibed at the bar, and went to sit down in one of the booths that lined the far wall. He was having a great time, but his feet hurt. Damn his body for having the discourtesy to remind him that he wasn’t nineteen any more. He sat down, sighed a happy sigh, and took in the room while periodically drinking from his beer bottle. As much as he adored his colleagues, he was perfectly content with his own company.  
  
Suddenly a familiar and very welcome shape appeared.

“Heeeyyy Mish!”

Jensen had the slightly too-loud voice and the slightly uncontrolled smile of a man who has been drinking for just a bit too long. Fortunately, Misha did too.

“Jackles!” he cheered.

Jensen sat down next to Misha, put his arm round him and gave him a dramatic kiss on the cheek.

“How you doing little angel man?” he asked, setting his drink down.

“What the fuck is that?” Misha enquired, indicating the lime green monstrosity of a cocktail in front of them.

“ _That_ ,” said Jensen, pointing accusingly at the glass. “is called Tie Me To The Bedpost.”

“It looks like mouthwash, Jensen, what the hell is in it?”

“Southern comfort and some other fucking nonsense, I don’t know… It’s fucking glorious though, you want some?”

Misha turned his nose up. “No, I don’t want any of that shit,” he said.

Then he leaned his face in to Jensen and added with a conspiratorial wink; “I would like to tie you to the bedpost though.”

Misha let that one land as he moved away and smirked into his beer.

Jensen shook his head. “You’re an irredeemable flirt, you know that?”

Misha shrugged. “Yeah,” he agreed.

“I wouldn’t get away with half the shit you do man. Vicki has the patience of a fucking saint…”

Misha chuckled. “Yeah, she’s a treasure. She knows I’ll always come home. Trust and communication, Jackles, that's all there is to it.”

There then ensued a long conversation about marriage and friendship, which somehow segued into one of those discussions that’s about everything and nothing. They covered politics, boats, the US education system, movies, clothes, nail polish for some reason, music… When the last of the Tie Me to the Bedpost had been long consumed, the empty lager bottles had multiplied on the table and the alcohol was beginning to lose its effect, they’d been talking non stop for a solid seventy minutes.

The dancing and merriment was still in full swing around them, and Jensen suddenly felt a bit claustrophobic.

“Hey,” he said to Misha. “You wanna go somewhere else? I’m tired of yelling over the music.”

“Ooh you know what they say,” Misha teased. “If the music’s too loud, you’re too old.”

Jensen smiled, conceding. “Then I’m too fucking old. Come on.”

He tapped Misha’s knee with the back of his hand and slid out of the booth. Misha downed the last drop of beer and followed without protest.

No one seemed to notice that they left, certainly no one tried to stop them, and they got up to Jensen’s hotel room without running into another soul.

Twenty minutes later they had cracked open the mini bar, Jensen had changed into his sweats, and they were sitting next to each other on the soft blue couch crying with laughter.

“Oh, oh man,” Misha breathed, wiping his eyes and reaching for his drink. He couldn’t remember if it was whiskey or brandy, but it was like tipping molten honey down his throat. The alcoholic buzz had settled back in both of them, and Jensen was positively giggly.

When the hysteria subsided, Misha shifted uncomfortably.

“God dammit, how come you get to sit there all comfortable and I’m still here in these damn tight jeans…”

“Take em off!” Jensen suggested.

Misha gave him a look that was very much eyebrow-driven.

“What?” Jensen laughed. “We don’t know each other well enough for me to see you in your underwear?”

Misha loosened the first few buttons of his shirt and started to kick his shoes off as an alternative to his friend’s proposal.

“What on earth makes you think I’m wearing underwear?” he asked sincerely.

Jensen huffed a laugh and shook his head. Then it was his turn to fidget in his seat.

“Damn, I’m sporting a semi here…”

Misha laughed. “What, because you’re imaging me without underwear on?!”

“Fuck you,” Jensen replied charitably. “It’s merely my body reacting naturally to this lovely relaxed atmosphere!”

The atmosphere continued to get more and more ‘relaxed’ until they were both ever so slightly slurring their words, and the task of focusing on objects became something of a challenge. After calming down from yet another laughing fit, Jensen began shuffling again.

“For god’s sake,” he muttered, slumping heavily against the back of the couch.

“What’s the matter?” Misha asked, rubbing a tired eye.

“I have an erection,” came the blunt response.

Misha looked down at his friend’s crotch.

“Yes, yes you do,” he agreed. Then he chuckled a little before adding; “Pray tell, what do you intend to do with it?”

“What do YOU intend to do with it?” Jensen returned, waving a mock-challenging finger at Misha’s face.

Misha stared at Jensen’s face appraisingly, licked his lips and smiled before looking away again. Jensen rocked his head back on the sofa and closed his eyes.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Misha said, putting his glass down on the table in front of them. “I could maybe…” he rested his hand lightly, testing the waters, on top of the bulge in Jensen’s sweatpants. “…do this…”

He watched Jensen’s face carefully. He could still play this off as a joke if Jensen swatted him away or told him to fuck off. When there was no such protest, Misha gently starting massaging with his hand.

Jensen exhaled slowly, breath catching in the back of his throat on exit. Reassured that the contact was welcome, Misha made his movements more precise and deliberate, running his fingers up and down Jensen’s length through his pants.

“I _could_ …” Misha murmured, voice Castiel-low. “…do _this_...”

With a bravery generated by several dozen alcohol units, he lifted the waistband of Jensen’s pants and slipped his hand inside. Jensen had unburdened himself of his underwear when he’d got changed, and he jumped a little at the feel of Misha’s hand on his bare flesh. Misha’s throat yielded a small involuntary whimper at how warm Jensen was, and how he was also so impossibly hard and, well, Texan-sized.

Misha was open-mouthed and wide-eyed with arousal as he stroked firmly, while continuing to study Jensen’s face for his reactions. Jensen’s eyes were still closed, but his sighs had connected to his vocal chords and become moans.

Every logical bone in Jensen’s body was telling him that this was stupid and he should put a stop to it right now. Unfortunately, one ‘bone’ in particular had rather assumed autonomy over the situation. Misha’s fist was sliding up and down Jensen’s throbbing cock, knuckles tugging against the fabric inside his sweatpants, and it felt better than it had any right to. Jensen could feel Misha’s eyes on him, could hear his breath, and he could tell that his friend was just as turned on as he was. He wondered briefly if he was also just as conflicted.

Jensen’s brain was trying to remind him that he was married, and straight, and that this current activity was unacceptable in every way, but his body had overruled it.

“Oh, god…” Jensen groaned, surrendering.

“Jensen?” he heard Misha whisper.

He didn’t dare open his eyes. “Yeah?” he breathed back.

“Can I suck you?”

Jensen’s eyes shot open, and he felt like his heart stopped. Misha’s hand had paused mid-stroke, and Jensen could feel those blue eyes burning into his face, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn his head.

Gaze fixed on the light fittings, Jensen heard himself say; “Yeah, yeah, ok…”

Misha shifted his body round on the couch, and started to pull at Jensen’s sweats. Jensen raised his ass helpfully, and the obstructive clothing ended up round his knees.

Jensen at last found the muscle power to move his neck, and watched as his friend - his crazy, funny, striking, magnetic, mesmerising friend – held the base of his cock and lowered his mouth gradually around it.

Jensen gasped at the feeling, and was shocked (and impressed) at how much Misha was able to get in his mouth. Jensen instinctively went to put his hand on Misha’s head, but stopped himself. As though if he kept his hands to himself he could remain removed from the deed, convince himself he’d been just a passive recipient…

Misha was a liberal and open minded guy, in a relationship with an equally liberal and open minded woman since their teens, and Jensen's was not the first dick he had ever sucked. It was certainly the biggest, however, and this was the first time Misha had intended to see the act through to completion.

Jensen's small gasps and whimpers were lighting a series of tiny fires inside of Misha, which almost made up for the fact that he couldn't see Jensen's face. He hummed around the smooth shaft filling his mouth as he increased his speed. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Misha was aware that he would probably be doing a better job of this if he weren’t so drunk. Even further back in his mind was the nagging consideration that this was a horrible idea, and they would both be plagued by regret come sunrise. Neither thought was enough to compel Misha to stop, however, and he kept on working his mouth up and down Jensen’s cock, licking the head, and using his free hand to fondle Jensen’s balls. Misha felt hypnotised, foggy, like he was in a dream.

Jensen's hips were jolting and his breathing was getting shallower. Misha braced himself for the inevitable, and he was surprised to find himself looking forward to the sensation.

Jensen felt the orgasmic surge threatening to break. He tried to bite out a warning, but English had forsaken him, and all he could manage was; _"Mi... oh... aah!_ " before he was coming forcefully in his friend's mouth.

To his credit, Misha barely flinched. He just kept working his lips and tongue round Jensen's pulsing dick, and swallowing everything he was given. He slowly pulled off, loosely massaging and cleaning with his mouth as he went. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand with a satisfied and slightly smug smirk, and reached for his brandy. Or was it whiskey?

He looked at Jensen, who was staring at the ceiling, panting.

"Dude," Jensen breathed. "You should put THAT on your fucking resume."

He looked over at Misha, and smiled. Misha swallowed his drink, gave a laugh, and stood up, wobbling a little. As he rose, Jensen got a full eyeful of what was happening in Misha's jeans.

Misha saw Jensen looking, but didn't want to push the boundaries of his friend's sexuality too far in one night, so had no intention of asking for the head to be returned. Instead he kept it light-hearted.

"I’ll pass on your recommendation to my agent. Now if you'll excuse me," he said, putting down his glass. "I need to go, uh, deal with myself..."

He made his way as steadily as possible to the bathroom.

Jensen watched him go, feeling an odd mix of guilt and lust at the idea of Misha being so turned on by sucking him off that he needs to go jerk one out in the bathroom. Jensen resituated his sweatpants, leaned forward and stared at his drink.

 _Fuck it_ he thought after a short while, swigged, then put the glass down and walked to the bathroom door, which was ajar.

Misha was standing over the toilet, one hand braced on the wall next to him, and his head bowed. His other hand was where Jensen had expected to find it, working himself over furiously. Misha was breathing heavily and he had his eyes closed as Jensen approached.

Misha jumped as Jensen slipped an arm around his waist.

"Allow me…" Jensen whispered into his friend’s ear, as he closed his right hand around Misha's cock, sliding Misha's own hand away as he did so.

"Jen, you don't have to," Misha stammered, but his words were soon replaced by groans as Jensen started stroking.

Misha put his redundant right hand on top of the one Jensen had wrapped round his middle, and let his head fall back into Jensen's shoulder.

"Oh god," Misha moaned.

The feeling of Jensen's strong hands around him was amazing. The touch was firm but not rough, and it felt so good. Misha had already been pretty close, and he wasn't going to last much longer. His left hand scrabbled for purchase on the wall tiles.

“Aaah…! Jen I’m gonna… Shit, _shit_ …”

Jensen squeezed Misha’s waist encouragingly, and kept up the pace of his other hand as Misha came. Ever the instinctive clean freak, Jensen made sure to direct it all straight into the bowl, and slowed his strokes as Misha’s now sensitive dick started to soften. Misha was panting and shaking, and Jensen held onto him while he came down.

Misha could feel Jensen’s breath on his neck, and suddenly it wasn’t just his breath. Jensen was kissing him. _Jensen was kissing him._ The first kiss was planted just above the neckline of Misha’s shirt, and the second behind Misha’s ear. They weren’t fiery or horny, but long and slow and affectionate, and Misha got serious goosebumps.

Then all of a sudden the moment was broken. Jensen let go of Misha, slapped him playfully on the ass and walked over to the sink to wash his hands.

Misha opened his eyes, sensing the stiff change in the atmosphere. He did his pants back up, and looked sideways at Jensen, trying to gauge how badly the friendship was ruined. Jensen dried his hands, and gave Misha a wink as he walked past him back out into the suite. No smile accompanied it, though.

Misha chewed on his lip, and went to splash some water on his face before following. Jensen was standing, looking out the window into the night, newly replenished drink in hand. Misha sighed. The fantasy bubble had most definitely popped, and reality had landed with a brutal thud.

“So, I should probably go back to my room,” he suggested, and Jensen turned his head but couldn’t quite make eye contact.

“Yeah, yeah ok, man,” Jensen replied, and the joviality in his voice was painfully forced.

Misha couldn’t get his shoes back on quick enough.

* * *

The following morning was a bit stilted between them, but not hostile. The air between everyone was odd though, so it wasn’t terribly noticeable. Everyone was hungover and tired, and grumpy about having to pack up and get in their respective cars so they didn’t miss their respective flights.

On the way home, Jensen’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

**Misha: are we ok?**

**Jackles: yeah, just feel guilty and weird.**

**Misha: I’m sorry I didn’t have the will power to stop us. But I’m also not sorry cause the whole night was all kinds of awesome. Understand if you wanna forget that it happened tho. Don’t wanna lose you over an ill-judged blow job…**

Despite the giant stone in his gut, Jensen couldn’t help the wry smile.

**Jackles: need to talk to Danni, hopefully no one will lose anyone… can’t lie it was good and I was totally on board at the time, but feel sick knowing I did that to her**

**Misha: I know. Rome won that round. Good luck with Danni, let me know how it goes, tell her I’m so so sorry. *hates self a little***

Jensen found he was a little envious that Misha wasn’t afflicted by the same trepidation as himself. Misha would without question tell Vicki what had happened, since their relationship was predicated on full disclosure. She likely wouldn’t be over the moon about it, but Misha certainly wouldn’t be punished. Jensen wished he could be sure of the same fate.

He told Danneel as soon as he had the opportunity to get on Skype. He was dreading it but he needed to put himself out of his misery.

He knew that his wife was easy going; always pretty forgiving of the demands of his work schedule, and never whining about having to share her husband with the Supernatural family. He was very lucky to have her – she was just as silly as he was and so sexy and smart, and so much fun. But he had absolutely no idea how she would react to this. She might totally lose it and want a divorce and stop him seeing the baby… _Fuck_ he couldn’t believe he was about to do this to a heavily pregnant woman. He’d never cheated on anyone; prided himself on being raised right in that regard, and he felt like he could throw up.

Danneel knew something was up as soon as she saw his face.

“What’s wrong? What have you done?” she asked, before the conversation even started.

Jensen wiped a hand over his face and started to explain. He told her about all the alcohol, and the peculiar mood in the air, and stupid Rome making him feel things, and the comfort he and Misha had drawn from each other in Jared’s absence.

“…and we were just chilling in my room, and one thing led to another and he…”

“Wait,” Danneel interrupted.

Jensen braced himself, ready for her to give him the hell he deserved, but she didn’t.

Instead she said; “Just tell me this. Did anybody – _penetrate_ – anybody?”

Jensen made a face and shook his head. “What? No! No, baby, no. _No_.”

He watched the expression on that beautiful face he loved so much soothe a little.

Danneel was quiet for a moment, but then she said decisively; “In that case I don’t need to know anything else. We can just chalk it up to the two of you being drunk and stupid and fooling around.”

“But, I…” Jensen began.

“No Jensen, I actually don’t wanna know.”

“Baby, you know that I would never consciously do anything to hurt you. And neither would he.”

“I know,” she nodded. “You’re not off the hook, I’m really mad that you got that drunk. But it’s ok. We’ll be ok.”

Jensen had never been more relieved in his life, and although it took a fair amount of grovelling, the event was soon eclipsed by the arrival of their daughter, and so it was confined to history, and never brought up again in the Ackles household.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tie Me to The Bedpost is a real drink. It looks awful.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Absolutely no clue what the Collins and Ackles family living arrangements are, so for the purposes of this, Jensen and Misha have apartments in Vancouver, Danni is in Texas and Victoria is in Washington.

Misha had been directed to keep his eyes on Jensen.

“This is paramount guys,” Robbie had told them. “Castiel and Dean have always communicated more through eye contact than anything else, and we need to read so much from both of them here with no dialogue.”

So Misha had done what he was told. Cas had lain underneath Dean, hands on his hips, gazing up at him and transmitting through his eyes the near-decade of unspoken love and desire.

Jensen was moving his body like he’d been directed – _“just a real gentle rolling motion Jensen, we don’t need an excerpt from Queer as Folk here, just something subtle”_ – and his hands were cradling Misha’s (Cas’) shoulders, arms flush together.

Having done so many seasons of Supernatural, Misha knew when he was looking at Dean and when he was looking at Jensen, and the same went for Jensen with Cas and Misha.

So when something in Dean’s face changed, and Misha found himself staring into Jensen’s dilated pupils, he couldn’t take it any more. He had to look away. He dropped his head back and stared up at the ceiling. He waited for the " _cut!_ " to come, but it didn’t. What happened instead was that ‘Dean’ dipped his head down and kissed Cas just below his Adam’s apple. Misha closed his eyes and bit his lip to stop from crying out in pleasure. His hand moved up reflexively to knead through Jensen’s (Dean’s) hair. The face that looked up at him through long eyelashes was Dean’s again, but Cas had left the building and Misha was having trouble summoning him back.

“And – cut,” a quiet voice cut through the air. “Perfect guys, thank you. Uh, we got all our close-ups, so… you’re done! Awesome take, thank you!”

Jensen climbed off of Misha, and threw on the robe that had been provided by wardrobe. He extended an arm to help his topless co-star off the bed, and as Misha sat up, Jensen shook his hand.

“Pleasure working with you,” he teased, and Misha returned his easy laugh.

As the reduced crew of the closed set began to busy themselves, Jensen invited Misha back to his trailer for a coffee. It was barely six, so Misha agreed, and having gotten his makeup removed, he was soon on the couch in Jensen’s trailer, hot tea in hand.

“Well,” Jensen said, sitting down heavily next to his friend. “Here’s to Cas and Dean.”

They clinked mugs.

“Cas and Dean,” Misha repeated. “They finally did it.”

“Yep,” Jensen nodded. “You are the Rachel to my Ross.”

Misha laughed. “The Maddie to my David.”

“Who?” Jensen asked.

“Moonlighting!” Misha said, incredulously.

Jensen shrugged.

“Damn I’m old,” said Misha into his tea.

There was a brief silence as they both let the day’s efforts slide away. Jensen smiled remembering the text message they’d both received from Jared that morning.

**Jar: Good luck today guys, really, was always rooting for Destiel! Try not to get a boner Misha.**

“I am so glad Padalecki wasn’t here today,” Jensen said. “I love that man but fuck he would’ve made that scene twelve thousand times more awkward.”

“Oh don’t think we’ve gotten away with it,” Misha warned. “Dean and Cas are a thing now so I’m sure he’ll have plenty of opportunity to make our lives a living hell.”

Jensen took a sip of coffee.

“I saw that, you know”, he said.

“Saw what?” said Misha.

“You couldn’t look at me.”

Misha turned his head to face his friend, and decided that Jensen could handle the truth.

“I found it, um, unexpectedly overwhelming,” he admitted.

Jensen nodded, understanding.

“You also did not take Jared’s advice,” he teased.

“What advice?”

“To wear a cup in case you got a boner.”

“Excuse me, I did not get a boner!”

“Oh really, so what was that in my thigh, Castiel, your angel blade?!”

Misha snorted and shook his head. “I wasn’t the one ad-libbing extra kisses into the scene.”

Jensen shrugged. “Hey, I just went with the moment man, improvisation is all about committing to impulses. Didn’t they teach you that at college?”

Misha laughed. “You’re an asshole”.

“A beautiful asshole,” Jensen corrected.

“My mistake.”

Misha took a drink, then looked at Jensen, curiously.

“What?” Jensen asked.

“It wasn’t too bad, was it Jackles?” Misha asked. “Your first gay love scene?”

Jensen laughed. “No, Misha, it wasn’t too bad.”

“I made it bearable, right?”

“Yes, Misha, you made it very bearable,” Jensen dead-panned.

Misha grinned, determined to be a pest.

“Looking down at my exquisite face soothed you, right?”

Jensen sighed. “Yes, Misha, your exquisite face soothed me. You are charming and delicious and there’s no one I’d rather be gay with.”

Jensen froze, mug halfway to his face.

“Wait…”

Misha cracked up. “Too late, you said it! Damn, why is there never a camera crew around when I need one?!”

Jensen shook his head, and sipped his coffee with what was left of his dignity.

Misha leaned back in the couch.

“In all seriousness though, Jensen, I am proud of you.”

“You’re proud of me?” Jensen queried, suspicious.

“Yeah,” Misha answered sincerely. “This was a big deal for you and you handled it really well. I think it’s worth noting, that’s all.”

There was a brief silence.

“Don’t you think that’s kind of pathetic?” Jensen asked.

“What is?”

“That it was a ‘big deal’ to film a gay love scene? Does that make me a giant douchebag?”

“Not at all,” Misha really meant that. “It would be a big deal to a lot of people.”

“Not to you.”

“No,” Misha agreed. “But it might have been a bigger deal if I’d been filming with someone else.”

“What do you mean?”

Misha shrugged. “You’re one of my favorite people so I wasn’t worried about filming that with you. I knew that you’d take it seriously and there’d be no pranks.”

Jensen didn’t say anything, just considered Misha’s words.

“I mean,” Misha sat up, tucked his feet under and swivelled so he was facing his friend. “If I trust you in a fight scene not to hurt me, I can certainly trust you to simulate sex, Jensen.”

Jensen made a _I guess you’re right_ kind of face.

“Plus…” Misha began, then seemed to have second thoughts.

“Plus…?”

 _“Plus you’re fucking gorgeous and I just got paid to touch you all afternoon”_ was the sentence in Misha’s head, but the one that came out of his mouth was slightly safer.

“Plus, you know, you’re not exactly hideous to look at, so there’s that.”

Jensen looked down and smiled, coyly. Honest to god it was actually coy, and Misha could’ve sworn that Jensen blushed as well. The sight of it spurred Misha to push a bit further.

“There are definitely worse ways to spend a work day,” he said, voice a bit softer and a bit deeper. “Getting paid to be underneath you ain’t so bad”.

Jensen looked over and Misha gave him a small sideways smile.

Misha felt that men and women of all sexual persuasions could agree that God did a fantastic job on Jensen's face. But Misha knew his friend was more than just eyes, lips and cheekbones. Jensen had a warm heart, and he was so sweet inside the tough guy exterior. It wasn't just automatic southern manners either, he was genuinely very kind to people. He made Misha laugh and he was a wonderful father and he looked like pure distilled sex when he sang... _Damn, this has got so out of hand._

Jensen held Misha’s gaze but his expression was unreadable. His lips were together and his jaw looked tight.

Despite his gentle mocking of Misha for not being able to look at him earlier, Jensen had been relieved when that had happened.

The mood on set when a love scene was filmed was always much more sterile than people imagined. Editors managed to make it look all romantic and sexy, especially once some music was layered on, but the actual business of filming was so damn awkward.

Today, though, Jensen had for the first time in his career actually felt something when filming a sex scene. He’d been looking, or rather Dean had been looking down at Cas’ face, but then without warning something had changed. Something deep down inside Jensen bubbled up to the surface and he’d suddenly got really emotional looking at Misha like that.

_What is it about Misha?_

Jensen had asked himself that so many times, and he’d had the question put to him by others as well. He had no answer. He didn’t know why Misha made him laugh more than anyone else on the planet, he didn’t know how Misha managed to be simultaneously tranquil and turbulent, he didn’t know why Misha was so kind in a world that was so cruel, he didn’t know how Misha was able to pull thoughts out of him that he didn’t share with anyone else, he just didn’t _know_ what it was that made Misha such a blinding, soothing force of nature.

Jensen could feel a strange but not unwelcome spark in the space between himself and his friend on the couch. A space that was already pretty small, and damn it he wanted to make it smaller. Misha was looking at him with that unmistakeable, universal ‘I want you’ in his eyes.

The atmosphere had become so tight that they both jumped when Jensen’s phone rang.

Jensen fumbled to get the damn thing out of his pocket, and clumsily hit the green button.

“Hey… h-hey baby,” he said, too loud.

Misha took that as a sign from whichever god it was that controlled his misguided physical antics that it was time to vacate this particular car crash waiting to happen. He signalled to Jensen that he was going to go, and went to return his mug to the little kitchen unit. He grabbed his coat off the chair as he passed.

“Hold – hold on one sec Danni, I’m just gonna say bye to Misha…”

Jensen placed his phone down on the couch and walked over to where Misha was hovering by the door. He threw a bro-hug round him and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Thanks for the tea Jackles,” Misha said, all too familiar with these one-eighties Jensen took when their dynamic got too complicated for him. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow, man,” Jensen returned.

“Great job today!” he added as the trailer door shut behind Misha.

He stared at the closed door, then sighed heavily. He shook his head, chewed at his lips a little, then headed back to his phone.

“Hey, sweetie, sorry.”

“That’s ok,” Danneel answered. “Just wanted to know how the big Destiel scene went today!”

Jensen smiled bitterly. _You really don’t_ … he thought.

“Yeah, good,” he answered. “Nailed it in one take like the pros we are, and we’re all set to break the internet when it airs.”

Danni laughed, and Jensen smiled, glad to be reminded that that was one of his favorite sounds.

“How was it filming with Misha though? Did it feel awkward?”

Jensen had talked at length with his wife about how he was a bit worried about shooting this with Misha. About how he wasn’t sure whether they’d be able to keep from laughing, or whether it would be uncomfortable between them afterwards.

“Kinda,” he admitted. “Like he just came over for a coffee and… I don’t know. We were fine but then it started to feel weird.”

“Well that’s understandable,” Danneel said. “It’s not every day you have to pretend to have sex with one of your best friends.”

Jensen hummed his agreement and took another sip of his now-tepid coffee. He made a face and set it down again.

“Also,” his wife was adding. “You and I both know the strange feelings that can linger when you gotta fall in love on screen...”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Baby we didn’t fall for each other cause of the movie, we were headed there anyway.”

“Sure, but filming together certainly ramped up the chemistry, right?”

“I guess. So… I should probably start dating him then ask him to marry me like I did with you, right?”

Danni laughed. “I’m just saying that acting this stuff with people you know is weird. Acting’s weird anyway; I mean you’re basically spending the day artificially creating emotions that aren’t yours. The entire profession’s fucked up and it’s no wonder the whole of Hollywood’s tapped.”

Jensen grinned. She was kidding but actually she was being quite insightful.

“Yeah it’s a miracle you and I are such well-balanced role models,” he said dryly.

“A real miracle.”

They changed the subject for a while and talked about their daughter, who sadly was already asleep so couldn’t talk to Daddy tonight. Then they covered a few topics of hot local gossip, before deciding they would both call it a night.

“I think you should go see Misha before you go home though, or at least call him.”

“Why?” Jensen wasn’t sure why this was so important to Danni.

“Because I just think you guys should lay everything out on the table about how you felt filming today. You don’t wanna go back on set and have it be awkward. It’ll be like this cloud over you.”

She was right, and Jensen wanted nothing more than to talk to Misha; he felt a disconcertingly strong pull towards the man right now. Frankly though he was worried about what he might do if they were alone.

“Yeah… maybe I’ll give him a call and talk it out before tomorrow.”

“Great – have you eaten?”

Jensen hadn’t, but he had too many other feelings in his gut right now for there to be any room for hunger.

“No, I’ll grab something on my way home.”

“Alright, make sure you do. Love you sweetie, call me tomorrow ok?”

“Ok babe, love you too.”

Danneel stopped him before he could hang up. “Baby?”

“Yeah?”

“If there’s anything you need to do; something… you feel you need to get out of your system…?”

Jensen froze. The woman could fucking read minds.

“Just…” She sighed. “Just do what you need to and be safe, ok?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Jensen flat out lied down the phone.

Danneel laughed again. “Honey, you’re a terrific actor but you _suck_ at lying.”

“Dan, really, there’s nothing I need to ‘get out of my system’, I’m fine.”

“Ok,” she was humouring him. “Just remember that I dealt with it once and I can deal with it again.”

There was silence as Jensen absorbed the implications of her words.

“We’d be ok, Jay, that’s all I’m saying. Alright?”

“Um, alright,” he concluded, not entirely sure what he was agreeing to. “I love you babe.”

“You damn well better.”


	9. Chapter 9

Misha sat down heavily on his sofa, and pulled out his phone. He was half dressed, having wanted to get as comfortable as possible, and was wearing nothing but sweatpants and a pained expression. He had a gin and lemonade in front of him, his current relaxant of choice. He picked up his phone, hovered over the Facetime app for a second, then decided to call Vicki the old-fashioned way. He could never fool her into thinking nothing was wrong if there really was, but he stood more of a chance if she couldn’t see his face.

“Hello, Misha Collins’ wife speaking, how may I help you?”

He instantly cheered up a little just from hearing that one daft joke of theirs; god he loved that woman.

“Oh, good evening Misha Collins’ wife, terribly sorry to disturb you, this is Misha Collins speaking.”

Vicki chuckled, “Hey you.”

“Hey you”, Misha repeated. “You ok?”

“I’m fine now that Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee are in bed,” she replied. “It’s been a standard day of chaos and destruction. How did the big scene go?”

Misha sighed. There was a lot he had confessed to Vicki - a LOT - more than most men would be comfortable telling their wives, and frankly most wives would likely never have been so cool and understanding. But the depth of his feelings toward Jensen was something he’d never outright admitted, although Misha suspected that Vicki already guessed the truth a long time ago.

“It was pretty intense,” he conceded. “But they were happy with it, so… it’s all good.”

“Was it weird? Was Jensen weird after?”

“No, not really, he was fine. We went to his trailer to toast Cas and Dean’s consummation.”

Vicki hummed a little laugh. “Excellent. You sound exhausted.”

“I am,” Misha agreed, wiping a hand down his face. “I think I’m going to order some dinner and then go to bed. Just wanted to check in.”

“Well you go relax then mister, and call us in the morning.”

“Yeah, ok, I have a later call time tomorrow so I’ll call you around ten?”

“Sure, goodnight sweetie, I love you.”

“Love you too, Misha Collins’ wife.”

He ended the call, grateful that she hadn’t pressed for details. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, and massaged his temples with the heels of his hands. He indulged in one more self-pitying sigh, then downed the remainder of his drink. He picked up his phone again, with the intention of finding the number of that Thai place, when his door buzzer buzzed.

_Who the fuck…_

He went across the room and pressed the intercom button, but not before he recognised the life-endingly beautiful face on the scratchy security monitor above it.

_Shit._

"What, you haven't seen enough of me today?" he said into the speaker.

There was a gruff laugh in response, and Jensen looked up to the camera.

“Hey man, sorry, I just need to talk to you real quick…”

“Sure, come on up.”

Misha pressed the door release and watched Jensen disappear off the monitor and into the building. He didn’t know what it was that Jensen wanted to talk about, but he suddenly felt a tight knot in his stomach (and a passing tingling a few inches lower down). He threw on the black t-shirt that he had earlier discarded, and went to open the door.

Jensen was just rounding the corner of the hall as Misha’s door opened. He’d taken the stairs at a jog, and the exertion coupled with the unexpected adrenaline that had flooded his system had made him a bit breathless.

 _Jesus, calm down dude,_ he scolded himself, and took a moment before attempting a nonchalant stroll towards his friend’s apartment.

As soon as Misha came into view, Jensen knew he was in trouble. He had genuinely just wanted to talk; to analyse the emotions overhanging from the filming, and hopefully end the evening just laughing and dicking around like the two of them usually did when they hung out. He’d basically wanted to erase the day’s awkwardness, and reset the friendship to its default setting. But one look at Misha with his dishevelled hair, tight t-shirt and wide eyes, and Jensen lost all sense of rational thought.

“Everything alright?” Misha asked, concerned by the troubled expression on Jensen’s face.

Jensen didn’t answer, just entered the apartment and closed the door behind him. He stood stock still, licking his lips and frowning while he tried to connect his brain to his mouth.

“Jensen?” Misha prompted. Jensen met his eyes but still didn’t say anything. “What’s the matter?”

“I, um…”

Jensen swallowed hard, shook his head, and looked up to the ceiling as he gave a sort of half-laugh at himself and his inability to form a sentence. Then he looked back down at Misha, and his expression softened. He sighed with a kind of pained resignation, put his hands either side of Misha’s face and kissed him with a desperate passion, pushing him up against the wall as he did so.

Misha gasped into the kiss, surprised and aroused in equal measure. He kissed Jensen back, more than equalling him in enthusiasm, his hands on Jensen’s hips. Misha could’ve easily pushed his friend away if he’d wanted to, and he probably should have, given that he was again complicit in letting his best friend go behind his wife’s back – or so he thought – plus whatever they did right now could very well leave their friendship in tatters for good. But this was literally a fantasy come true for Misha, and he was at least going to enjoy it for a minute or two before letting something awful like logic ruin it.

The angel on Misha’s shoulder at last persuaded him to try and do the right thing.

“Jensen…” he gasped, taking the opportunity to talk when Jensen diverted his attention from his friend’s lips to his neck. “Not that I’m complaining, _believe_ me, but - _ahh oh god_ \- what the fuck’s come over you?”

Jensen ceased his neck-worship and leaned his forehead on the wall just above Misha’s shoulder.

“I didn’t plan to do this, I swear,” he answered quietly. “I just wanted to talk… but I came through the door and… I don’t know, man, whether it’s the scene or what but…” he lifted his head and met Misha’s eyes. “…you just look so fucking sexy right now and I just…” he cut himself off mid-sentence by launching another attack on Misha’s mouth.

Misha hummed with pleasure, and decided that if this was happening then clothing layers needed to be lost. He pushed Jensen’s jacket off his shoulders, and Jensen hurriedly shrugged it off and let it fall to the ground. He put his hands back on Misha’s face to pull it closer so he could kiss him again. The kiss was starting to lose its urgency now, like there’d been some tacit agreement between them that this was definitely headed somewhere, and so there was no longer any need for the frantic rush. Misha still had most of his weight firmly against the wall, a fact for which he was grateful, because he wasn’t sure his legs would hold him up if he tried to move away.

“God, Jensen,” Misha moaned, his lips barely leaving Jensen’s as he spoke. “The way you kiss…”

The two of them had spent much of the day kissing in all fairness, but there’s a huge emotional difference between kissing in character with lights and cameras inches from your face, and real kissing with wild, audience-free abandon.

Jensen was often getting teased for pouting, and he hated all the jabs about having ‘blow job lips’, but damn he knew how to use those things.

“Jesus, man,” Jensen breathed. “Why do I want you so much?”

Misha slid one of his hands up inside Jensen’s t-shirt and ran his fingers up and down the hot bare skin of his back. The other hand he put on the back of the waistband of Jensen’s jeans, and pulled him forward so that their hips connected. Suddenly there was no pretending that they weren’t both very turned on in an extremely tangible way.

“Do you really want to do this?” Misha asked. “Are you just - still full of Dean? Is this really you?”

“I thought it was just Dean,” Jensen confessed. “But the way you looked at me today… I know that was you and not Cas… something inside me just blew up…”

They had both unconsciously started a very subtle roll of their hips while Jensen had been talking. Jensen started to tug Misha’s shirt up, and Misha took the hint, pulled it all the way off and threw it down.

“Whatever this is that’s been building between us,” Jensen continued, eyes and hands all over Misha’s exposed chest. “It hit critical today man. It’s taken over.”

With that, Jensen started to kiss Misha again, hungrily. The side of his mouth, his cheek, his neck, his jaw, his collarbone… Everywhere Jensen could reach, while at the same time gradually pacing up the tempo of the grind between their pelvises.

“You feel really fucking good,” Misha said, and his voice had started to sound strained, overcome as he was with desire.

Jensen was kissing just behind Misha’s ear.

“So do you,” he growled. “and you taste so good baby…”

The ‘baby’ just kind of dropped itself on the end of the sentence out of habit really, but it was no less sincere for it, and the sound of it sent a surge of lust shooting right through Misha’s veins.

“Oh god, Jensen, you saying ‘baby’ in my ear… fuck, that does things to me... good things…”

Jensen pulled back a little to study Misha’s face. His hips stilled, and a smirk crept onto his mouth.

“Oh yeah?” he said, playfully. “You like it when I call you baby?”

Misha groaned. “Oh god, yes…”

Jensen flicked an eyebrow and ran a contemplative tongue over his bottom lip.

“What about if I called you…” he dropped his voice and put as much Texan into it as he could. “… _Dmitri?”_

Misha’s eyes caught fire and Jensen found himself being pushed backwards across the corridor to the opposite wall. Misha re-ignited the kiss’ fury, and his hands were in Jensen’s hair as they made out like horny teenagers.

Misha came up for breath. “I need to get you horizontal,” he said, panting. “Like, right now.”

Jensen grinned. “Well, let’s go baby!”

Misha narrowed his eyes threateningly, but smiled and shook his head; “You’re going to milk that for all it’s worth, aren’t you?”

“Sure am,” Jensen smirked. “baby. Now, speaking of milking…”

Jensen pushed past Misha and headed down the corridor to the bedroom. Knowing Misha was watching him, he put as much swagger into his walk as possible, and pulled off his t-shirt as he went, looking for all the world like he was auditioning for Magic Mike. Misha was practically drooling, and luxuriated in the view for a moment, before noticing that Jensen had stopped at the doorway and was undoing his flies. Keeping his back to Misha, Jensen kicked off his shoes, shimmied his jeans down his legs and stepped out of them, before strutting into the bedroom.

Misha wanted to race after him as fast as he could, but he didn’t. He walked slowly down the short corridor, anticipation making his heart thump and his jaw tingle. He thrilled at the sight of Jensen’s clothes piled on the floor, and resisted the urge to pick the t-shirt up and inhale. Jensen always smelled so damn good.

Misha stepped through the doorway to his bedroom, and was greeted with a view straight out of his favourite daydreams. Jensen had removed his socks, and was completely naked apart from his black boxers. He was lying on his back, propped up on his elbows on Misha’s bed. The bedside lamp was on, and he beamed at Misha through the dim light.

“It’s too late to play hard to get Mish,” he said, in reference to Misha’s leisurely pace. “Get the hell over here.”

Misha smiled out the side of his mouth, then bit his bottom lip. He thought about stripping off his sweatpants, but if Jensen wanted to keep certain areas concealed, then he would too. He’d wanted this for too long to risk making a dumb move and scaring Jensen off. So he kept his dignity covered, and climbed up on to the end of the bed by Jensen’s feet.

He crawled forward until he was on all fours, legs straddling Jensen’s crotch, and hands supporting his weight either side of Jensen’s shoulders. Jensen put his hands on Misha’s hips, and stared up at him, tiny cracks beginning to show in his cocky bravado.

Misha spotted the change immediately. “You ok?” he asked softly.

Jensen took a deep breath. “Yeah,” he smiled. “I’m good.”

“You gotta tell me if it’s too much, ok?” Misha pressed. “I would seriously rather stop literally during, than have you regret this and hate me.”

Jensen moved a hand off Misha’s hip in favour of running it through Misha’s hair. Then he cupped the back of Misha’s neck and pulled him down into a deep kiss.

Misha moaned, wondering if he could ever get bored of being kissed like this, and lowered his bottom half to connect with Jensen’s. Jensen responded with a deep moan of his own, and rolled his hips, causing the two erections to make electrifying contact.

Misha broke the kiss and leaned his head on Jensen’s shoulder.

“Fuck,” he uttered, trying to keep himself under control. None of his ‘Jensen fantasies’ included premature ejaculation, and he wasn’t about to let it happen.

Misha decided that, as he was on top, he would take the reins and set the pace. He lifted his head, and tucked his hands underneath Jensen’s shoulders, gazing into Jensen’s face. He squeezed his thighs to bring Jensen’s undulating hips to a stop, then leaned forward to place a soft kiss onto Jensen’s absurdly perfect lips. Misha breathed a sigh of pure contentment, then began a slow rhythmic grind. Hard cocks were sliding and rubbing against each other through soft fabric. Jensen closed his eyes as the sensation took him over.

“Oh god, Mish,” he groaned. “That’s so nice…”

For a few minutes neither of them spoke, just basked in the feeling of moving together. They kissed periodically, and a few choked-off gasps were released, and it was just awesome and quiet and sensual. Jensen didn’t seem able to keep his hands and fingers still, alternating as they were between stroking Misha’s sides, flexing through Misha’s hair, gripping onto Misha’s shoulders, and sometimes one would sneak inside Misha’s pants to grab his ass.

The friction and intensity were building, and Misha was fighting to keep his speed down. His body wanted him to let go and hump Jensen relentlessly until he came, but he desperately wanted this to last as long as possible, wanted to keep Jensen’s face within kissing distance while he was allowed to. Jensen seemed to be having a similar internal battle, because he had started his own grind against Misha’s, and had raised his knees so his feet were pressed into the mattress.

Jensen could no longer pretend that this was temporary insanity. This was a choice that he had made. He wasn’t drunk, he wasn’t high, he couldn’t blame the zeitgeist of a romantic city… he was solely responsible for the fact that he was currently dry-humping his best friend. Who happened to be a guy. It felt so fucking good that he couldn’t even remember why he wasn’t supposed to be doing it. He stared up at Misha’s face, and smiled.

“You’re actually really hot, you know that?”

Misha laughed softly. “And they say romance is dead.”

“No, really,” Jensen said, running his fingertips up Misha’s rib cage, making him shiver. “I spent all day inches away from your face, and I realised I never really looked at it before.”

Misha sighed, blissful at Jensen’s touch.

“And what did you see?” he breathed, mouth brushing Jensen’s cheek.

“Your eyes,” Jensen whispered. “are so fucking beautiful.”

Misha’s cock twitched, and he deflected from the compliment by kissing Jensen’s neck, still piston-ing his thighs.

Jensen whimpered, then carried on; “and your lips are, _aaah_ , really full and gorgeous… and your nose is really smooth, and the skin under your eyes is kinda wrinkled but it’s really cute, _mmm god_ , and your eyebrows are perfectly symmetrical and your teeth are really straight, and… _oh_ …oh Jesus…”

Misha had unwittingly found the most sensitive part of Jensen’s neck, and once there he’d evidently decided to set up camp. He kissed, licked and nibbled at it until Jensen was trembling all over.

“Fuck,” Jensen breathed, shakily.

Misha lifted his head so his face was right above Jensen’s.

“Is that a command?” he smirked.

Jensen huffed a laugh. “No,” he said, as if he were gently discouraging a naughty child.

“Shame,” said Misha, pausing to kiss Jensen’s lips again. Fucking things were addictive. “Maybe some other time…”

Misha reasserted his tongue into Jensen’s mouth, and kicked the pelvic thrusts into a higher gear. He couldn’t help it, he needed this so badly.

“Mmmm,” Jensen hummed into Misha’s mouth, then broke away, turned his face to the side and closed his eyes. “Oh my god, Misha…”

Misha liked the name he had chosen for himself, but never did it sound better than when Jensen was saying it. Jensen saying it when his voice was dripping with arousal, however, was enough to fuel Misha’s spank bank for a good many months.

“I’m really fucking close man,” Jensen growled. “Don’t stop…”

Misha had absolutely no intention of stopping. The thought of being responsible for another of Jensen’s orgasms, and being able to actually see it this time…

“Jensen?” Misha whispered into his lover’s ear. “Will you look at me when you come?”

Jensen’s movements slowed.

_Shit._

Misha knew he shouldn’t have said it as soon as it left his mouth; he knew that Jensen was still sensitive about his sexuality and about intimacy, but Misha found it difficult to control his mouth at the best of times, never mind when his heart and various other parts of his anatomy were pounding with desire.

Jensen opened his eyes, but didn’t meet Misha’s, looking over at the wall instead.

“Mish…” he began, but Misha pre-empted the end of the sentence.

“I know,” Misha said hurriedly, face turned down into Jensen’s collarbone. “It’s too much, I know, I’m sorry. But just… just this once, Jen, please? I just want to see it, just once… please…”

Jensen put his hands on Misha’s head, and turned his face up to look at him. He studied him for a good few moments, before pressing a tender kiss to those full lips he’d been gazing at all fucking frustrating day.

Jensen had been so obsessed with how much he wanted this, he’d kind of forgotten to think about how much Misha might have been wanting it too. Hearing Misha practically begging to see him come sent a lightning bolt through him.

Jensen knew that there were several thousand people around the world with giant crushes on him, but he tried not to dwell on that, because as flattering as it was, it was kind of a mind-fuck. It was lovely to know that he was adored, but the idea of it didn’t ever turn him on. Being adored by Misha though, being craved so completely by this remarkable man - _that_ was a colossal aphrodisiac.

“Ok,” Jensen nodded. “Ok, Mish.”

Misha made a noise that was half a whimper and half a gasp. He put one of his hands under Jensen’s head, and pulled him into their most intense kiss yet. They were both so turned on they could barely breathe, and the movement between their groins was verging on desperate. Misha suddenly got bold, and grabbed Jensen’s hands from where they had slid down to his waist. He held Jensen’s wrists down on the pillow either side of his face, then turned his oral attention from Jensen’s mouth back to that special point on his neck.

The alpha-male cowboy side of Jensen, which would’ve objected to being pinned down like this, had been suffocated by the side of him that needed to let go and be taken care of, so there was no resistance.

Quite the opposite in fact; Jensen felt an unexpected thrill in letting Misha dominate him like this, so much so that his impending climax started to swell.

“Mish, Mish, I’m gonna… oh god, oh god… I’m… I’m coming… I’m coming baby, I’m coming… yes… yes… _yes!”_

Misha pulled back to watch Jensen’s face, hips still driving and circling. Jensen was staring earnestly into Misha’s eyes, just like he’d asked him to, and that was enough to wrench Misha’s own release out of him with alarming force.

“Oh, _Jensen_ ,” Misha cried, as he’d done so many times before in his imagination. It felt wonderful to finally do it out loud for real.

Jensen’s eyes and mouth were wide, and inarticulate sounds were falling from him as he arched and quivered underneath Misha.

Misha was shuddering as he came in waves, his orgasm lasting far longer than usual, ecstasy coursing through every nerve ending.

Their movements stuttered to a complete stop, and Misha collapsed on top of Jensen’s chest. Even through the dense fog of post-coital bliss, Misha was conscious that he shouldn’t stay like that for too long; probably shouldn’t let it turn into cuddling. So he rolled himself over with some effort, and finished up on his back next to his panting, sweating friend.

“Jesus,” Misha breathed at the ceiling. “I’ve had some satisfying orgasms over the years Jen but fuck me! I haven’t come that hard in decades.”

When the only response he got was silence, Misha turned his head to look at Jensen. He had his arms still bent up at the elbow and loose fists resting by his head, and his eyes were glazed.

“You alright?”

Jensen was trying and failing to make sense of the mess of thoughts and emotions inside him. Getting physical with Misha had felt so natural, like they did it all the time. He had come so hard he nearly blacked out, and he hadn’t even taken his underwear off. He had also done something that ordinarily he hated to do - completely relinquished control. It scared him to be vulnerable, even with his nearest and dearest. It took a lot for him to let go. But he hadn’t been scared at all, he’d felt totally safe. The irrefutable truth was that he trusted Misha, maybe more than anyone else in the world.

“I’m just waiting,” Jensen said, voice low and a bit wrecked.

“For what?”

“For the guilt to land. I thought it would have by now, but… I don’t feel it.”

“What do you feel?”

Jensen rolled over onto his side, propped his head up on his hand and looked at Misha.

“I’m just still - buzzing. I feel warm and I feel good, but I feel like I should feel bad for feeling good… I’m basically a shambles.”

Misha smiled, undeniably relieved that Jensen hadn’t gone cold and shut him out again. He turned to mirror Jensen’s position.

“It’s ok to be a shambles,” he offered, voice soft and intimate. They were only centimetres away from each other’s faces, and Misha pushed his luck a bit more by squeezing a comforting hand onto Jensen’s bicep.

“If you don’t feel guilty then you don’t feel guilty. Maybe you will tomorrow, but right now you don’t. So just feel what you feel.”

Jensen studied his friend’s expression.

“Being this close to your face is starting to feel pretty standard,” he said, eliciting from Misha one of those amazing thousand-watt smiles.

Jensen returned it, then continued; “I feel… like I’m in a bubble. And real life can’t get in, and we can get away with whatever cause we’re in the bubble. Does that make sense?”

Misha wriggled a tiny bit closer. “Perfect sense.”

Jensen’s hand had somehow made it up to Misha’s cheekbone, and he was lightly running his knuckles over it. He reached forward and kissed Misha, just because he could. This time it was relaxed and indulgent; just a kiss for the sake of a kiss, leading nowhere.

When it ended, Misha had his eyes closed. He could easily stay in Jensen’s bubble forever. Their own little bubble that couldn’t be penetrated by responsibilities or consequences. Sounded ideal.

He opened his eyes and glanced over at the clock. Not even ten o’clock yet.

“You think we can get pizza delivered to our bubble?” he asked.


	10. Chapter 10

Showers were had, and pizza was devoured.

Misha had lent Jensen a clean t-shirt and some pyjama pants (that were just a bit too snug), and they were sitting on the floor with their backs against the couch, pizza boxes and drinks cans littered around their feet. Misha was in his dressing gown.

One of the less obnoxious music channels was playing a countdown of The Best Movie Soundtracks of the 80s, and currently Huey Lewis and the News were rocking their way out of Misha’s surround sound.

“Dude, why does your dressing gown have a raccoon on it?”

“It’s not a raccoon, it’s a badger. I’m a Hufflepuff.”

“You’re a what?”

“Hufflepuff. Harry Potter. Come on!”

“Oh, ok,” the penny dropped. “I’m a Gryffindor. Jared made me take some damn quiz.”

“Ah yes, so courageous, so brave, so daring, so true! All cowboys are Gryffindors I expect.”

Jensen shook his head. “You’re a dork.”

“Correct.”

Jensen licked some stray mozzarella off his fingers and got up off the floor.

"I’m too old to not be in a comfortable chair right about now,” he said as he cracked his back and sprawled onto the couch. He leaned forward to rescue his drink.

Misha stayed where he was.

“Hey,” he said. “You never actually told me why you came over tonight.”

Jensen thought for a moment. Wow. His conversation with Danneel felt like it happened days ago.

“I just wanted to undo the awkward,” he said.

"Hmm,” Misha nodded sarcastically. “Nice job…”

Jensen clipped him round the head in response.

_“Ow!”_

Misha climbed up on to the couch, forcing Jensen to move his legs. There wasn’t quite room enough for both of them, so after some rearranging of limbs and asses, Jensen ended up with his legs draped over Misha’s lap, as The Power of Love was replaced by St Elmo’s Fire.

"Bizarrely enough, it was Danni who told me to come see you,” Jensen said.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah… I think she knows, man.”

“Knows what?”

“That there’s something - deeper going on with us. I mean, Jared does that thing all the time where he jokes about you and I having an affair and all that shit. Makes those comments in front of her, and she always plays along, but… I don’t know…”

Jensen directed his attention back to his coke.

Ah yes, Jared’s running gag that Misha was in love with Jensen. Fans lapped it up, and Misha always laughed it off, cause what else was he meant to do? Tell Jared he was right on the money? - _“Well yes, now you come to mention it, I’m so in love with Jensen that I can’t see straight, and every time you make this joke I die a little inside.”_

“ _Is_ there something deeper going on with us?” Misha asked. “I mean, obviously, _now_ there is…but, like, before?”

“There’s always been something. I don’t know how to describe it. Just something. If there hadn’t then we wouldn’t have had the incident.”

“The incident?”

Jensen gave him a pointed look.

"Oh, you mean the incident that we agreed to pretend never happened, but that I think about almost every fucking day?” Misha said.

Jensen looked amused. “You do?”

“Oh my god Jen, I have replayed that night so many times in my head. Did you ever tell Jared about it?”

Jensen shook his head. “Nope, and I don’t think Danni told Gen either cause she _definitely_ would’ve told him, and he _definitely_ would’ve mentioned it. Repeatedly.”

“Seb knows,” Misha confessed.

“What?”

“I didn’t tell him; he sort of guessed and I’m such a terrible liar… I swore him to secrecy though.”

There was a pause. Misha was absentmindedly moving his hands in small circles over Jensen’s leg.

"To be honest,” Jensen said carefully. “Once Danni kind of forgave me and I stopped feeling nauseas with guilt about it, I would think about it every now and then.”

Misha stared at his hands. “Yeah?” he said quietly.

“Yeah,” Jensen replied. “It was… pretty hot. The way you just, went there…”

Misha sensed the air changing. They’d been two friends just hanging out eating pizza a couple of minutes ago, but now they were two people who’d just sorta had sex, and the chemistry had become palpable again.

“I tried to forget about it,” Misha said. “But almost every time I saw you I would get reminded. And for weeks after it happened I would get momentary flashes of it every time I closed my eyes to sleep.”  
  
Misha concentrated on what he was doing with his hands. He turned the random movements into more of a massage, and let his fingers trail a little further up Jensen’s leg as he was talking.

“Sometimes,” he continued, voice coated in lust. “I do allow myself the indulgence of _really_ thinking about it. Remember the way you taste, the feel of you, the sounds you made.”

Jensen took a long inhale.

 _Here we go again,_ he thought, delighted. _Fuck_ when the hell did he get so infatuated?

Misha wasn’t done yet, and his voice was now pure sin.  
  
“Sometimes I change the ending depending on what kind of fantasy I'm in the mood for. Sometimes you push me over the side of the couch and fuck me til I scream.”  
  
Jensen’s breath caught in the back of his throat and a shiver ran down his spine at the sudden explicit turn the conversation had taken. Misha sounded _so good_ talking dirty.  
  
“Sometimes I'm feeling more romantic, and I pull you over to the bed,” Misha’s voice dimmed almost to a whisper. “Then I make love to you by… slowly opening you with my fingers and my tongue, then gently sliding inside you.”  
  
Jensen couldn’t breathe. He just stared at Misha, open-mouthed, exhilaration tingling from his toes right up to the top of his head.  
  
“Have you ever thought about that, Jen?” Misha asked, still looking only at his hands. “Ever thought about fucking me?”

Misha flicked his eyes up, and they were aflame. Jensen nodded.  
  
Misha smiled. “Ever thought about _me_ fucking _you_?”  
  
Jensen slowly shook his head. Misha pouted, playfully, in a show of sulky disappointment.  
  
“Mish,” Jensen began, voice cracking. “The idea of having anything in my ass slightly terrifies me.”

Jensen drew his legs towards him, off Misha’s lap, and slid down the couch until he was kneeling up on the carpet in between Misha’s thighs. He put his hands on Misha’s hips, and leaned forward to kiss his neck.

“But,” he said between kisses. “The thought of _you_ … _inside_ me… by any means and in any capacity…”

Misha moaned, and lifted his hand to caress Jensen’s hair.

“Yeah,” Jensen breathed, kisses travelling to Misha’s jaw. “I could get on board with that… one day.”

“One day,” Misha repeated.

Jensen’s mouth had made it to Misha’s, who opened eagerly to let Jensen’s tongue find his own. They both tasted like pizza and smelled like shower gel. Misha’s hands were gripping the front of Jensen’s t-shirt, and Jensen’s had slid round to the small of Misha’s back. Misha pressed his thighs gently into the top of Jensen’s legs, not in a show of dominance but just in an effort to feel as much of Jensen’s body as he could.

They kissed like that, the occasional throaty gasp or strangled groan escaping, until they could each feel that the other was hard again.

Misha gently pulled Jensen’s head away and looked into his eyes.

“Do you wanna fuck me?” he whispered.

Jensen rubbed his hands up and down Misha’s back, and dropped his gaze.

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly.

He sounded so vulnerable and adorable, Misha just wanted to wrap him up in his arms and never let go. He put a hand under Jensen’s chin and kissed him again, layering it with lots of extra tenderness.

Then Misha said; “Ok, how about this…”

He stood up, bringing Jensen up with him, and led Jensen by the hand to the chair opposite the couch.

“You sit here,” he instructed, pushing Jensen gently down by his arms. “And I’m going to go back over to the couch.”

“What are…”

“I’m going to open myself up,” Misha stated, like he talking about doing the laundry.

Jensen swallowed hard.

“If you wanna come over you can,” Misha said. “and if you don’t, just stay here and enjoy the view.”

He gave Jensen a prolonged peck on the lips, before turning back towards the couch.

The background music was now being delivered by Madonna, but luckily neither of them were paying too much attention, or they would’ve noticed how cringingly appropriate it was.

Misha untied his robe, let it fall from his shoulders, and sat back down on the couch. With his eyes on Jensen, he slipped his hand inside his boxers and started to jack himself slowly.

_“…can’t you feel the weight of my stare…”_

Jensen blew out through pursed lips. This was so not part of the fucking plan. What even _was_ the plan any more? A few hours ago he’d taken his wife’s advice and come to talk to his friend. They’d spontaneously induced some pretty powerful orgasms in each other and ordered pizza. Now he was being invited to screw said friend into his couch. What. the actual. fuck.

_“…I never wanted anyone like this, it’s all brand new…”_

There was a small chest next to the couch, and Misha opened the bottom drawer and retrieved a small bottle.

“Jesus, Mish,” Jensen shook his head. “Only you would keep lubricant in the fucking living room.”

Misha chuckled. “Always be prepared my little boy scout,” he grinned.

Placing the bottle next to him, Misha hitched up his hips so that he could take his underwear off. This was definitely crossing a line from which there would be no coming back. Dry-humping through their clothes was one thing, being sucked off and participating in a drunken half-a-handjob was another, but could Jensen’s masculinity take the sight of an erect cock five feet away? Preparing himself for his friend to panic and run for the hills, Misha helped himself to a generous drizzle of lube and took himself in hand. When he forced himself to look up, he was pleased to see that far from freaking out, Jensen had his hand down his pants, working his own erection, and was watching Misha with his bottom lip firmly between his teeth.

_“…trying hard to control my heart…”_

Misha exhaled and let his head fall back, but kept his eyes on his gorgeous friend’s gorgeous face. Then he remembered the task he’d set himself, and reached again for the lube. He coated his fingers, and lifted one foot up on to the couch. It was difficult to imagine a more exposed position to be in, but it really turned Misha on knowing he was doing this for Jensen.

_“…eye to eye we need no words at all…”_

Misha’s ass had had its fair share of attention over the years; been licked and played with, but rarely penetrated, and even then it’d been just light foreplay or oral accompaniment, nothing deeper than a fingertip. He’d fingered himself once or twice in the name of experimental pleasure, but never before had it been with the express purpose of getting himself wide enough to accommodate someone’s dick. He swallowed, genuinely anxious for the first time that evening.

Jensen seemed to notice that Misha was hesitating, and he gave him the sweetest smile, to let him know that he was safe, and whatever he did or didn’t do was totally fine. Just one of Jensen’s catalogue of mind-altering, heart-shaking smiles which would one day be the fucking death of Misha.

Jensen watched curiously as first one, then two of Misha’s fingers disappeared inside him. Jensen was waiting for his nerve to break, but he felt surprisingly calm, and his insides fizzed with anticipation as he stroked himself, enraptured. Maybe it was the novelty of the picture before him that was making him horny, or maybe it was just cause it’s _Misha_. Misha, who was panting and spilling little broken sounds out of his mouth.

When Misha managed to push a little squashed collection of three fingers inside himself, Jensen realised he had starting walking over to the couch, though it felt more like gliding. He divested himself of his t-shirt, sat down next to Misha, put a hand on his cheek and kissed him gently.

“You look good like this Mish,” he praised.

Misha didn’t answer, just gazed up at Jensen, face a strange mix of wide-eyed innocence and filthy promise.

Jensen took up his previous position in between Misha’s legs. He was going to do this. He wanted to do this. But he needed to hear Misha talk again.

“Tell me what you want, Mish,” he requested softly, running his hands over Misha’s thighs.

Misha moaned, circling his fingers.

“I want _you_ ,” he said, with stark, unguarded emotion in every word. “Want you inside me Jen, I want you to fuck me.”

Jensen tried to keep his cool, but his throat betrayed him by full-out whimpering at the eroticism of his friend’s quiet demand.

 “Are you sure?”

“Yes, god yes, _please_ …”

Jensen reached over and opened Misha’s drawer, assuming correctly that if his friend kept lube in there, he must also keep condoms.

Jensen pushed down his pants, opened the packet and slowly rolled the condom on. Then he grabbed the bottle and smothered himself. He’d engaged in anal sex before a few times, and he knew the three most important things about it were lube, lube, and more lube.

Misha slowly pulled his fingers out, accompanied by a low moan, and adjusted his posture in readiness. He put his hands behind his knees to pull his thighs up, and Jensen assisted his efforts by pulling him forward by the hips, so that he was slightly overhanging the edge of the couch.

“Mish?” Jensen asked, voice coming out deeper than he expected. “Has anyone ever done this to you before?”

Misha shook his head. “Go slow,” he pleaded.

Jensen tilted forward to place a sweet kiss on Misha’s forehead. “I will, baby, I will, don’t worry,” he whispered.

Then Jensen shuffled his knees so that they hit the bottom of the couch, put one hand on Misha’s hip and one on the base of his own swollen cock, and very gently started to ease into the warm welcoming body in front of him. Misha was staring into Jensen’s face, panting.

“Oh my god,” Misha gasped, closing his eyes, as inch by inch Jensen pushed inside.

“You ok?” Jensen stammered, overcome by how tight and hot this felt. “You want me to stop?”

“No,” Misha whispered. “You’re just – you’re really big…”

Jensen half-laughed, then said; “If it’s too much just tell me to stop ok? I’ll pull out any time, I promise, I don’t wanna hurt you.”

Misha smiled; figures that Jensen would be the perfect Southern gentleman even when he has his cock up someone’s ass.

Jensen vaguely registered that ‘Take My Breath Away’ from Top Gun had now begun playing on the TV, and the cheesiness would’ve made him laugh had he not been concentrating so much on the extraordinary man in front of him. _Dear God don’t let the next song be from Dirty Dancing…_

Jensen kept his eyes on Misha, watching for any signs of discomfort. As he started to thrust slowly, he remembered the existence of the prostate gland, and made it his mission to seek-and-stimulate.

Misha’s brain was stuck in a loop of _Jensen’s inside me Jensen’s inside me Jensen’s inside me_ , and ‘overwhelmed’ didn’t even come close. When Jensen’s unfathomably large cock grazed his prostate, he cried out shamelessly and dug his nails into the backs of his knees.

The sound went right through Jensen, and he had a hard time keeping control of his speed.

“Shit Jen, it’s so good,” Misha panted. “Fuck! So, so good, oh my _god_ …”

Misha released one of his legs and put his hand round his dick, needing some extra friction.

Jensen, never having partaken of any guy-on-guy porn, was totally unprepared for the sight beneath him. Historically he would’ve been watching himself slide in and out of a beautiful soft pussy, above which would be an expanse of silky smooth skin and then of course two equally silky smooth breasts. Never had he imagined sliding in and out of the ass of a _dude_ , who was stroking his own dick at the same time. Fuck but it was hot as hell.

Misha was getting used to the feeling of being so filled up, and he was at the point where he needed more, needed Jensen to just take him.

“Harder…” he said through gritted teeth. “Fuck me, _fuck me!”_

Jensen didn’t wait for more confirmation, just immediately did as he was told. He put his hands on the couch either side of Misha’s body, and gave Misha everything he had.

Misha removed his hand from his dick, wrapped his legs around Jensen’s back underneath his arms, and held on tightly to Jensen’s shoulders. Jensen had tipped his body slightly forward, and his stomach was making contact with Misha’s cock with each propulsion of his groin.

Misha couldn’t have described the sensation even if he’d been capable of speech at that moment.

Misha dug words. He loved to read and write poetry, and really enjoyed the satisfaction of a well-turned phrase. Sometimes the limitations of the English vernacular frustrated him though. He had an impressive vocabulary but there was only so much you could do when your language’s efficacy in describing emotions was so woeful.

How on earth could the English-speaking world still only have one word for ‘love’? Just one all-encompassing term for so many different feelings. It made no sense at all that it was deemed adequate to describe the way one felt about one’s children, and also about one’s favourite sandwich.  

Misha wished there was an alternative expression for the emotion he felt for the man he was currently wrapped around. Categorising Jensen together with Misha’s wife, parents and kids seemed disrespectful to all of them.

The love Misha felt for Victoria was engrained and forever. It was a Giant Redwood; beautiful and unshakable. This, for Jensen, was starlight and magic and ethereal. A rhyming couplet popped unannounced into Misha’s head: _fierce and all-consuming, yet safe and unassuming._

Jensen was still completely focused on Misha’s face as he fucked deeper and deeper into him. He was spellbound by every muscle twitch, eyelid flutter and mouth shape. Jensen was gasping for breath, and he felt like his skin was on fire; a continuous delicate crackle running up and down his arms, legs and back. He felt extremely empowered and liberated by this act that he never dreamed he’d actually experience. He was throbbing inside Misha, enamoured by the idea of coming in this gorgeous man’s body.

The hard steady thrusting was getting Misha closer and closer to the finish. That, and his proximity to Jensen’s beautiful face, which was made even more beautiful by the imminent onset of orgasm. Misha wanted desperately to get there, but at the same time wanted to delay it so he could stay here like this in the paradise bubble with Jensen moving inside him.

Misha let his head fall back against the couch, as he felt the unstoppable heat rising up from the base of his spine.

"Jen, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come..." he was chanting.

Jensen leaned a bit further forward and kissed Misha slow and deep, somehow striking a soft counterpoint to the rhythmic thrusts of his hips. The kiss was at full force as Misha's climax crested, and his low scream got swallowed up between their lips, like Jensen was trying to lick the sound out of Misha’s mouth. 

As Misha’s muscles contracted involuntarily around Jensen’s cock, Jensen cried out and buried his face in Misha’s neck, pounding into him as he neared his own completion.

Misha couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t seem to come down from the peak of pleasure.

Riding on the extended high of his ecstasy, his heart overruled his brain and he couldn’t stop the words that were determined to break out.

"I love you,” he whispered into Jensen’s ear.

Whether it was the raw confession that sent him over the edge, or whether he was at the brink anyway and it was just coincidence, as soon as the words left Misha’s lips, Jensen started to come.

“Aaaaaaah, nnngg, nnnnnnnnggg!” the incomprehensible sounds tumbled out of him, and Misha couldn’t stop now he’d started.

"I _love_ you, Jensen.”

Jensen’s body convulsed as he hit the next orgasmic swell.

Misha’s voice was now practically a sob. “God help me I love you so much.”

Jensen was trembling violently, and Misha wrapped his arms around him and held him tightly until he was spent.

"Holy shit,” came the muffled voice at Misha’s pulse point. “Mish… oh, oh my god, Misha…”

Jensen found the energy to lift his head, sweat running down his face, and kissed Misha again, deep and reckless and passionate. He let himself slip out of his lover’s body, and Misha dropped his knees and his feet found the floor. Jensen was having difficulty holding himself up, so he pulled Misha down on top of him and ended up on his back on the carpet. They were kissing the whole way down, and didn’t stop once they’d landed, though the kiss decelerated and calmed as the adrenaline melted away.

When the inconvenient need to breathe struck, Jensen gazed up at Misha, completely lost with no desire whatsoever to be found. Misha was lightly stroking behind Jensen’s ear, love-drunk and smiling, inwardly cursing the fact that he was definitely too old to get it up for a third time in one night.

The moment was somewhat ruined when the Ghostbusters theme suddenly blared out of Misha’s speakers, and the two of them broke into laughter.

Misha hauled himself up to kneeling, dismounted and sat next to Jensen on the floor. He then took it upon himself to peel the condom off and dispose of it.

“You’re going to sleep here, right?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound as desperate as he felt.

“Sure,” Jensen answered, sitting up. “But I get to be the big spoon.” He winked and stood up, retrieving his borrowed pants from the floor and heading to the bathroom.

  * * * *

A little while later, they were lying in Misha’s bed, both topless in the pitch darkness. Jensen had indeed been the big spoon, but it hadn’t lasted long because he hadn’t been able to resist laying languid kisses all over Misha’s back, neck and shoulder blades, inspiring Misha to roll over and initiate a lazy make-out session.

When the long overdue tiredness finally hit, they both rolled onto their backs. Jensen reached down between them and held Misha’s hand, lacing their fingers together. Jensen’s other arm was curved up onto the pillow above his head.

Misha closed his eyes, reluctantly. He squeezed Jensen’s fingers, while his other hand rested gently on his own stomach. He couldn’t fight sleep any more but he didn’t want this night to end. Wanted to float around in the bubble just a bit longer.

"I love you too,” Jensen’s quiet voice came out of the dark beside him, and Misha flooded with happiness.

“Shit,” he smiled. “We’re in trouble now.”

 

 

                            ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that this is out of my system I am hoping to be able to return to real life. I’ll let you know how that goes…!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, and to those of you who are sweet enough to leave kudos and kind comments, God bless you and may all your OTPs become canon.
> 
> Come tumbl with me! ([ celestial-destiel-thunderpuffin](https://tumblr.com/blog/celestial-Destiel-thunderpuffin))
> 
> UPDATE: I failed at real life and wrote [a sequel.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7769500/chapters/17720398)


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